THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
>J2
RflY YOU, SIR,
- 9
WHOSE DAUGHTER?
L<5) ^ ^ ,
HELEN H. GARDENER,
Author of "Is This Your Son, My Lordf" " Pushed by Unseen Hands,
M Thoughtless Yes," "Men, Women and Gods," etc., etc.
BOSTON, MASS.;
arena ffmblfsbfng Company,
COPLEY SQUARE,
1802.
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY
HELEN H. GARDENER.
3S/3
I saw a woman sleeping. In her sleep she dreampt Life
stood before her, and held in each hand a gift in the one
Love, in the other Freedom. And she said to the woman,
"Choose!"
And the woman waited long ; and she said : " Freedom ! "
And Life said, " Thou hast well chosen. If thou hadst said,
Love, I would have given thee that thou didst ask for; and
I would have gone from thee, and returned to thee no more.
Now, the day will come when I shall return. In that day I
shall bear both gifts in one hand." I heard the woman
laugh in her sleep.
Olive Schreener s Dreams.
DSW
Befcfcatefc
With the Jove and admiration of the Author,
Uo bet Ibusbanfc,
Who is ever at once her first, most severe, and most sympathetic critic,
whose encouragement and interest in her work never flags; whose
abiding belief in human rights, without sex limitations, and in
equality of opportunity leaves scant room inhis great soul
to harbor patience with sex domination in a land
which boasts of freedom for all, and embodies its
symbol of Liberty in the form of the only
legally disqualified and unrepresented
class to be found upon its shores.
preface*
In the following story the writer shows us what pov
erty and dependence are in their revolting outward as
pects, as well as in their crippling effects on all the ten
der sentiments of the human soul. Whilst the many suf
fer for Avant of the decencies of life, the few have no
knowledge of such conditions.
They require the poor to keep clean, where water by
landlords is considered a luxury ; to keep their garments
whole -where they have naught but rags to stitch together,
twice and thrice worn threadbare. The improvidence of
the poor as a valid excuse for ignorance, poverty, and
vice, is as inadequate as is the providence of the rich,
for their virtue, luxury, and power. The artificial con
ditions of society are based on false theories of govern
ment, religion, and morals, and not upon the decrees of
a God.
In this little volume we have a picture, too, of what
the world would call a happy family, in which a nat
urally strong, honest woman is shrivelled into a mere echo
of her husband, and the popular sentiment of the class to
which she belongs. The daughter having been educated
in a college with young men, and tasted of the tree of
knowledge, and, like the Gods, knowing good and evil,
can no longer square her life by opinions she has out-
vi preface.
grown ; hence with her parents there is friction, struggle,
open revolt, though conscientious and respectful withal.
Three girls belonging to different classes in society ;
each illustrates the false philosophy on which woman s
character is based, and each in a different way, in the
supreme moment of her life, shows the necessity of self-
reliance and self-support.
As the wrongs of society can be more deeply impressed
on a large class of readers in the form of fiction than
by essays, sermons, or the facts of science, I hail with
pleasure all such attempts by the young writers of our
day. The slave has had his novelist and poet, the
farmer his, the victims of ignorance and poverty theirs,
but up to this time the refinements of cruelty suffered by
intelligent, educated women, have never been painted in
glowing colors, so that the living picture could be seen
and understood. It is easy to rouse attention to the
grosser forms of suffering and injustice, but the humilia
tions of spirit are not so easily described and appre
ciated.
A class of earnest reformers have, for the last fifty
years, in the press, the pulpit, and on the platform, with
essays, speeches, and constitutional arguments before leg
islative assemblies, demanded the complete emancipation
of women from the political, religious, and social bond
age she now endures ; but as yet few see clearly the need
of larger freedom, and the many maintain a stolid indif
ference to the demand.
I have long waited and watched for some woman
to arise to do for her sex what Mrs. Stowe did for
preface. vii
the black race in "Uncle Tom s Cabin," a book that did
more to rouse the national conscience than all the glow
ing appeals and constitutional arguments that agitated
our people during half a century. If, from an objective
point of view, a writer could thus eloquently portray the
sorrows of a subject race, how much more graphically
should some woman describe the degradation of sex.
In Helen Gardener s stories, I see the promise, in
the near future, of such a work of fiction, that shall
paint the awful facts of woman s position in living colors
that all must see and feel. The civil and canon law,
state and church alike, make the mothers of the race
a helpless, ostracised class, pariahs of a corrupt civil
ization. In view of woman s multiplied wrongs, my
heart oft echoes the Russian poet who said : God
has forgotten where he hid the key to woman s emanci
pation." Those who know the sad facts of woman s life,
so carefully veiled from society at large, will not consider
the pictures in this story overdrawn.
The shallow and thoughtless may know nothing of
their existence, while the helpless victims, not being able
to trace the causes of their misery, are in no position
to state their wrongs themselves.
Nevertheless all the author describes in this sad story,
and worse still, is realized in every-day life, and the
dark shadows dim the sunshine in every household.
The apathy of the public to the wrongs of woman
is clearly seen at this hour, in propositions now under
consideration in the Legislature of New York. Though
two infamous bills have been laid before select com-
viii IPretace.
mittees, one to legalize prostitution, and one to lower
the age of consent, the people have been alike ignorant
and indifferent to these measures. When it was pro
posed to take a fragment of Central Park for a race
course, a great public meeting of protest was called
at once, and hundreds of men hastened to Albany to
defeat the measure.
But the proposed invasion of the personal rights of
woman, and the wholesale desecration of childhood has
scarce created a ripple on the surface of society. The
many do not know what laws their rulers are making,
and the few do not care, so long as they do not feel
the iron teeth of the law in their own flesh. Not
one father in the House or Senate would willingly have
his wife, sister, or daughter subject to these infamous
bills proposed for the daughters of the people. Alas !
for the degradation of sex, even in this republic. When
one may barter away all that is precious to pure and
innocent childhood at the age of ten years, you may
as well talk of a girl s safety with wild beasts in the
tangled forests of Africa, as in the present civilizations
of England and America, the leading nations on the
globe.
Some critics say that every one knows and condemns
these facts in our social life, and that we do not need
fiction to intensify the public disgust. Others say, Why
call the attention of the young and the innocent to the
existence of evils they should never know. The majority
of people do not watch legislative proceedings.
To keep our sons and daughters innocent, we must
preface. ix
warn them of the dangers that beset their path on every
side.
Ignorance under no circumstances ensures safety.
Honor protected by knowledge, is safer than innocence
protected by ignorance.
A few brave women are laboring to-day to secure for
their less capable, less thoughtful, less imaginative sis
ters, a recognition of a true womanhood based on indi
vidual rights. There is just one remedy for the social
complications based on sex, and that is equality for
woman in every relation in life.
Men must learn to respect her as an equal factor in
civilization, and she must learn to respect herself as
mother of the race. Womanhood is the great primal
fact of her existence ; marriage and maternity, its
incidents.
This story shows that the very traits of character
which society (whose opinions are made and modified
by men) considers most important and charming in
woman to ensure her success in social life, are the very
traits that ultimately lead to her failure.
Self-effacement, self-distrust, dependence and desire to
please, compliance, deference to the judgment and will
of another, are what make young women, in the opinion
of these believers in sex domination, most agreeable ;
but these are the very traits that lead to her ruin.
The danger of such training is well illustrated in the
sad end of Ettie Berton. When the trials and tempta
tions of life come, then each one must decide for herself,
and hold in her own hands the reins of action. Edu-
x preface.
cated women of the passing generation chafe under the
old order of things, but, like Mrs. Foster in the present
volume, are not strong enough to swim up stream. But
girls like Gertrude, who in the college curriculum have
measured their powers and capacities with strong young
men and found themselves their equals, have outgrown
this superstition of divinely ordained sex domination.
The divine rights of kings, nobles, popes, and bishops
have long been questioned, and now that of sex is under
consideration and from the signs of the times, with all
other forms of class and caste, it is destined soon to pass
away.
ELIZABETH CADY STANTON.
t Sir,
Wbose 2>augbter?
i.
To say that Mrs. Foster was cruel, that
she lacked sympathy with the unfortunate,
or that she was selfish, would be to state
only the dark half of a truism that has a
wider application than class or sex could
give it; a truism whose boundary lines,
indeed, are set by nothing short of the
ignorance of human beings hedged in by
prejudice and handicapped by lack of im
agination. So when she sat, with dainty
folded hands whose jeweled softness found
fitting background on the crimson velvet of
her trailing gown, and announced that she
could endure everything associated with,
and felt deep sympathy for, the poor if
l!?ou, Sir, Wbosc Daughter?
it were not for the besetting sin of unclean-
liness that found its home almost invariably
where poverty .dwelt, it would be unjust
to pronounce her hard-hearted or base.
"It is all nonsense to say that the poor
need be so dirty," she announced, as she
held her splendid feather fan in one hand
and caressed the dainty tips of the white
plumes with the tips of fingers only less
dainty and white.
"I have rarely ever seen a really poor
man, woman, or child who was at the same
time really clean looking in person, and
as to clothes "
She broke off with an impatient and dis
gusted little shrug, as if to say what was
quite true that even the touch of properly
descriptive words held for her more soilure
than she cared to bear contact with.
John Martin laughed. Then he essayed
to banter his hostess, addressing his re
marks meanwhile to her daughter.
"One could not imagine your mamma a
victim of poverty and hunger, much less
of dirt, Miss Gertrude," he began slowly;
"but even that sumptuous velvet gown of
lou, Sir, TIClbo0e Dausbterl 3
hers would grow to look more or less let
us say rusty, in time, I fear, if it were the
only costume she possessed, and she were
obliged to eat, cook, wash, iron, sew, and
market in it."
The two ladies laughed merrily at the
droll suggestion, and Miss Gertrude pursed
up her lips and developed a decided squint
in her eyes as she turned them upon the
folds of her mother s robe. Then she took
up Mr. Martin s description where the laugh
had broken in upon it.
"Too true, too true," she drawled; "and
if she dusted the furniture a week or so
with that fan, I m afraid it would lose more
or less of its gloss. Mamma quite prides
herself upon the delicate peach-fuzz-bloom,
so to speak, of those feathers. Just look at
them ! " The girl reached over and took
the fan from her mother s lap. She spread
the fine plumes to their fullest capacity, and
held them under the rays of the brass lamp
that stood near - their guest. Then she
made a flourish with it in the direction of
the music stand, as if she were intent upon
whisking the last speck of dust from the
l^ou, Sir, Idbose Daugbtert
sheets of Tannhaiiser that lay on its top.
A little cry of alarm and protest escaped
Mrs. Foster s lips and she stretched out her
hand to rescue the beloved fan.
K Gertrude! how can you?" She settled
back comfortably against the cushions of
the low divan with her rescued treasure
once more waving in gentle gracefulness
before her.
w Oh, no," she protested. " Of course
one could not work or live constantly in one
or two gowns and look fresh, but one
could look and be clean and and whole.
A patch is not pretty I admit, but it is a de
cided improvement upon a bare elbow."
"I don t agree with you at all," smiled her
guest ; " I don t believe I ever saw a patch
in all my life that would be an improvement
upon upon " He glanced at the lovely
round white arms before him, and all three
laughed. Mrs. Foster thought of how many
Russian baths and massage treatments had
tended to give the exquisite curve and
tint to her arm.
" Then beside," smiled Mr. Martin, " a
rent or hole may be an immediate accident,
liable to happen to the best of us. A patch
looks like premeditated poverty." Gertrude
laughed brightly, but her mother did not
appear to have heard. She reverted to the
previous insinuation.
"Oh, well; that is not fair! You know
what I mean. I m talking of elbows that
burst or wear out not about those that
never were intended to be in. Then, be
sides, it is not the elbow I object to; it is
the hole one sees it through. It tells a tale
of shiftlessness and personal untidiness that
saps all sympathy for the poverty that com
pelled the long wearing of the garment."
r Why, my dear Mrs. Foster," said Mar
tin, slowly, " I wonder if you have any idea
of a grade of poverty that simply can t be
either whole or clean. Did V "
"I ll give up the whole, but I won t give
in on the clean. I can easily see how a
woman could be too tired, too ill, or too
busy to mend a garment; I can fancy her
not knowing how to sew, or not having
thread, needles, and patches; but, surely,
surely, Mr. Martin, no one living is too poor
to keep clean. "Water is free, and it doesn t
6 Prag 12ou, Sir, Idbose 2>augbter?
take long to take a bath. Besides "
Gertrude looked at her mother with a
smile. Then she said with her sarcastic
little drawl again :
"Russian, or Turkish?"
:? Well, but fun and nonsense aside, Ger
trude," said her mother, "a plain hot bath
at home would make a new creature out
of half the wretches one sees or reads of,
and"
"Porcelain lined bath-tub, hot and cold
water furnished at all hours. Bath-room
adjoining each sleeping apartment," laughed
Mr. Martin. "What a delightful idea you
have of abject poverty, Mrs. Foster. I do
wish Fred could have heard that last re
mark of yours. I went with his clerk one
day to collect rents down in Mulberry
Street. He had the collection of the rents
for the Feedour estate on his hands "
"What s that about the rents of the
Feedour estate?" inquired the head of the
house, extending his hand to their guest
as he entered. Mrs. Foster put out her
hand and her husband touched the tips of
her fingers to his lips, while Gertrude
lou, Sir, Idbose Baugbter? 7
slipped her arm through her father s and
drew him to a seat beside her. Her eyes
were dancing, and she showed a double row
of the whitest of teeth.
"Oh, Mr. Martin was just explaining to
mamma how your clerk collects rent for the
porcelain bath-tubs in the Feedour property
down in Mulberry Street. Mamma thinks
that bath-rooms should be free hot and
cold water, and all convenient appoint
ments."
Fred Foster looked at their guest for
a moment, and then both men burst into
a hearty laugh.
"I don t see anything to laugh at," pro
tested Mrs. Foster. "Unless you are guy
ing me for thinking Mr. Martin in earnest
about the tubs being rented. I suppose,
of course, the bath-rooms go with the apart
ments, and one rent covers the whole of it.
In which case, I still insist that there is
no reason why the poor can t be clean, and
if they have only one suit of clothes, they
can wash them out at night and have them
dry next morning."
The men laughed again.
8 prag ISou, Sir, TKftbose SJaugbtet?
" Gertrude, has your mamma read her
essay yet before the Ladies Artistic and
Ethical Club on the < Self-Inflicted Sorrows
of the Poor? " asked Mr. Foster, pinching
his daughter s chin, and allowing a chuckle
of humorous derision to escape him as he
glanced at their guest.
"No," said the girl, a trifle uneasily;
"Lizzie Feedour read last time. Mamma s
is next, and she has read her paper to me.
It is just as good as it can be. Better than
half the essays used to be at college, not
excepting Mr. Holt s prize thesis on eco
nomics. I wish the poor people could hear
it. She speaks very kindly of their faults
even while criticising them. You
"Don t visit the tenement houses of the
Feedour estate, dear, until after you read
your paper to the club," laughed her
husband, "or your essay won t take half
so well. College theses and cold facts are
not likely to be more than third cousins ; eh,
Martin? I m sure the part on cleanliness
would be easier for her to manage in
discussion before she visited the Spillmi
family, for example."
l?ou, Sir, Uabose Daugbter? 9
"Which one is that, Fred?" asked Mr.
Martin, a droll twinkle in his eye. :? The
family of eight, with Irish mother and
Italian father, who live in one room and
take boarders?"
There was a little explosive "oh" of
protest from Gertrude, while her mother
laughed delightedly.
"Mr. Martin, you are so perfectly absurd.
Why didn t you say that the room was only
ten by fifteen feet and had but one win
dow!"
"Because I don t think it is quite so big
as that, and there is no outside window
at all," said he, quite gravely. "And their
only bath-tub for the entire crowd is a
small tin basin also used to wash dishes in."
"W-h-a-t!" exclaimed Mrs. Foster, as if
she were beginning to suspect their guest s
sanity, for she recognized that his mood had
changed from one of banter.
The portiere was drawn aside, and other
guests announced. As Mrs. Foster swept
forward to meet them, Gertrude grasped her
father s arm and looked into his eyes with
something very like terror in her own.
10 Ipras l?ou, Sir, Idbose 2>augbter?
"Papa," she said hastily, in an intense
undertone; "Papa, is he in earnest? Do
the Feedour girls collect rent from such
awful poverty as that? Do eight human
heings eat and sleep live in one room
anywhere in a Christian country? Does ?"
Her father took both of her hands in his
own for a moment and looked steadily into
her face.
"Hundreds of them, darling," he said,
gently. Don t stare at Miss Feedour that
way. Go speak to her. She is looking
toward us, and your mother has left her
with Martin quite long enough. He is in an
ugly humor to-night. Go no, come," he
said, slipping her hand in his arm and draw
ing her forward through the long rooms to
where the group of guests were greeting
each other with that easy familiarity which
told of frequent intercourse and community
of interests and social information.
Uou, Sir, Wbose DaugbterT 11
n.
Two hours later Gertrude found herself
near a low window seat upon which sat
John Martin. She could not remember
when he had not been her father s closest
friend, and she had no idea why his moods
had changed so of late. He was much less
free and fatherly with her. She wondered
now if he despised her because she knew so
little of the real woes of a real world about
her, while she, in common with those of
her station, sighed so heavily over the
needs of a more distant or less repulsive
human swarm.
""Will you take me to see the Spillini
family some day soon, Mr Martin," she
asked, seating herself by his side. " Papa
said that you were telling the truth were
not joking as I thought at first."
Her eyes were following the graceful
movements of Lizzie Feedour, as that young
12 pras 12cm, Sir, Wbose Daughter?
lady turned the leaves of a handsome vol
ume that lay on the table before her, and
a gentleman with whom she was discussing
its merits and defects.
"I don t believe the call would be a
pleasure on either side," said Mr. Martin,
brusquely, "unless we sent word the day
before and had some of the family moved
out and a chair taken in."
The girl turned her eyes slowly upon
him, but she did not speak. The color
began to climb into his face and dye the
very roots of his hair. She wondered why.
Her own face was rather paler than usual
and her eyes were very serious.
:i! You don t want to take me," she said.
I wonder why men always try to keep girls
from knowing things from learning of the
world as it is and then blame them for
their ignorance I You naturally think I am
a very silly, light girl, but "
A great panic overtook John Martin s
heart. He could hardly keep back the
tears. He felt the blood rush to his face
again, but he did not know just what he
said,.
1Pra lou, Sir, IClbose DaugbterT 13
"I do not I do not! You are I I
should hate to be the one to introduce you
to such a view of life. I was an old fool to
talk as I did this evening. I "
"Oh, that is it!" exclaimed Gertrude,
relieved. :? You found me ignorant, and
content because I was ignorant, and you
regret that you have struck a chord a
serious chord where only make-believe or
merry ones were ever struck between us
before."
John Martin fidgeted.
"Xo, it is not that. I would like to
strike the first serious chord for you in
your heart, Gertrude."
He had called her Gertrude for years.
Indeed the Miss upon his lips was of very
recent date, but there was a meaning in the
name just now as he spoke it that gave the
girl a distinct shock. She felt that he was
covering retreat in one direction by a men
dacious advance in another. She arose
suddenly.
"Lizzie Feedour is looking her best to
night," she said. "She grows handsomer
every day."
14 Pras HJou, Sir, lldbose Daughter?
She had moved forward a step, but he
caught the hand that hung by her side.
She faced him with a look of mingled pro
test and surprise in her face ; but when her
eyes met his, she understood.
" Gertrude, darling ! " was all he could
say. This time the blood dyed her face and
a mist blinded her for a moment. She re
membered feeling glad that her back was
turned to everyone but him, and that the
window drapery hid his face from the
others, for the intensity of appeal touched
with the faintest shimmer of happiness and
hope told so plain a story that she felt,
rather than thought, how absurd it would
look to anyone else. She did not realize
why it seemed less absurd to her. She
drew her hand away and the color died out
of his face. Her own was burning. She
had turned to leave the room when his dis
appointed face swam before her.eyes again.
She put out her hand quickly as if bidding
him good-night and drew him toward the
door. He moved beside her as in a dream.
"After you take me to see the Spillini
family," she said, trying to appear natural
i?ou, Sir, Idbose Daughter 1 15
to any eyes that might be upon her, " we
I-r-" They had reached the portiere. She
drew it aside and he stepped beyond.
"There is no companionship between two
people who look upon life so unequally.
Those who know all about the world that
contains the Spillini family -and those who
know nothing of such a world are very far
apart in thought and in development. There
is no mental comradeship. I feel very far
from my father to-night for the first time
mamma and I. I have looked at her all the
evening in wonder and at him. I wonder
how they have contrived to live so far apart.
How could he help sharing his views and
knowledge of life with her, if he thinks her
and wishes her to be his real companion and
comrade. I could not live that way."
She seemed to have forgotten the newer,
nearer question, in contemplating the prob
lem that had startled her earlier in the
evening. John Martin thought it was all
a bit of kind-hearted acting to cover his
retreat. He dropped her hand. A man
servant was holding his coat. He thrust
his arms in and took his hat.
16 pra H?ou, Sir, Whose Daughter?
" Will you take me to see the Spillini
family to-morrow f " asked a soft voice from
the portiere. A great wave of joy rushed
over John Martin. He did not know why.
" Yes," he said, in a tone that was *so dis
tinctly happy that the man-servant stared.
The folds of the portiere fell together and
John Martin passed out onto Fifth Avenue,
in an ecstasy.
He is willing to share his knowledge of
life with me of life as he Bees and knows
it she thought, as snelay awake that night.
He does not wish to live on one plane and
have me live on another. That looks like
real love; Poor mamma! Poor papa!
How far apart they are. To him life is a
real thing. He knows its meaning and
what it holds. She only knows a shell that
is furbished up and polished to attract the
eye of children. It is as if he were read
ing a book to her in a language he under
stood and she did not. The sound would
be its entire message to her, while he gath
ered in and kept to himself all the meaning
of the words the force of the thoughts.
How can they bear such isolation. How
s l!?ou t Sir, IGlbose Daughter! 17
can they? she thought with a new feeling
of passionate protest that mingled with her
dreams.
18
in.
" Sure an I d like to die meself if dyin
wasn t so costly," remarked Mrs. Spillini, as
she gazed with tear-stained eyes at the little
body that occupied the only chair in the dis
mal room. " Do the best we kin, buryin the
baby is goin to cost more than we made all
winter out o all three boarders. Havin the
baby cost a dreadful lot altogether, an now
it s dyin s a dreadful pull agin."
Gertrude Foster opened her Russian
leather purse and Mrs. Spillini s eyes
brightened shrewdly. There was no need
for the hesitancy and choice of words that
gave the young girl so much care and pain.
Familiarity with all the mean and gross of
life from childhood until one is the mother
of six living and four dead children, does
not leave the finest edge of sentiment and
pride upon the poverty-cursed victims of
fate.
lt)ou, Sir, TSflboee Baugbtec? 19
" If you would allow me to leave a mere
trifle of money for you to use for the baby,
I don t it is only " began Gertrude ;
but the ready hand had reached out for the
money and a quick "Thanky mum; much
obliged " had ended the transaction.
"I shall not tell mamma tliat" thought
Gertrude, and she did not look at John Mar
tin. It was her first glimpse into a grade
of life to which all things, even birth and
death, take on a strictly commercial aspect;
where not only the edge of sentiment is
dulled by dire necessity, but where the
sentiment itself is buried utterly beneath
the incrustations of an ignorance that is
too dumb and abject to learn, and a poverty
that is too insistant to recognize its own
ignorance and degradation.
? Won t you set down?" inquired Mrs.
Spillini, as with a sudden movement she
slid the small corpse onto the floor undei
the edge of the table. " I d a ast you be
fore, but "
" O, dont ! " exclaimed the girl ; but before
her natural impulse to stoop and gather up
20 iprag lout Sir, Whose Bauflbter?
the small bundle had found action possible,
John Martin had placed it on the table.
" Oh, Lord; don t! " exclaimed the woman,
in sudden dismay. T The boarders d lack if
they was to see it there. Boarders is differ
ent from the family. We could ate affen
the table afther, but boarders boarders d
kick."
"Could do you think of anything else
we could do for you?" inquired Gertrude,
faintly, as she held open the door and tried
to think she was not dizzy and sick from
the dreadful, polluted air, and the shock of
the revelation, with all that it implied, be
fore her.
Four dirty faces, and as many ragged
bodies, were too close to her for comfort.
There was a vile stew cooking on the stove.
The air was heavy and foul with it. Ger
trude distinctly felt the greasy moisture on
her kid gloves as they touched each other.
"]N"o, I don t know s they s anything more
you can do," replied the passive, hopeless
wreck of what it was almost sacrilege to
call womanhood. "I don t know s they s
anything more you could do unless you
21
could let the boarders come in now. They
ain t got but a little over ten minutes to eat
in, an dinner s ready," she replied, as
she lifted the pot of steaming" stuff into
the middle of the table and laid two tin
plates, a large knife and a bunch of iron
forks and spoons beside it.
* Turn that chair to the wall," she added
sharply to one of the children, who hastened
to obey the command. >r They ll all have to
stand up to it this time. I ain t a goin to
shift that baby around no more till it s
buried, now that I kin bury it. Take this
side of the table, Pete. I don t feel like
eatin. You kin have my place n the ole
man ain t here. Let go of that tin cup, you
triflin young one. All the coffee they is,
is in that. Have a drink, Mike?" she asked,
passing the coveted cup to the second
boarder. Gertrude was half-way down the
dark hallway, and John Martin held her arm
firmly lest she step into some unseen trap
or broken place in the floor.
When they reached the street door she
turned to him with wide eyes.
"Great God," she moaned, "and people
22 fcrap l^ou, Sir, TJQbose Daughter?
go to church and pray and thank God
and collect rent from such as they! Men
offer premiums to mothers and fathers for
large families of children to be brought
up like that! In a world where that is
possible ! Oh, I think it is wicked, wicked,
wicked, to allow it any of it all of it!
How can you?"
John Martin looked hopeless and helpless.
"I don t," he said, in pathetic self-defense,
feeling somehow that the blame was per
sonal.
"Oh, I don t mean you!" she exclaimed,
almost impatiently. "I mean all who know
it who have known and understood it all
along. How could men allow it? How
dared they? And to think of encouraging
such people to marry to bring into a life
like that such swarms of helpless children.
Oh, the sin and shame and outrage of it ! "
John Martin was dazed that she should
look upon it as she did. Pie was surprised
that she spoke so openly. He did not fully
comprehend the power and force of real
conviction and feeling overtaken in a sin-
l)ou, Sir, TWlbose Daughter? 23
cere and fearlessly frank nature by such
a knowledge for the first time.
"I should not have brought you here," he
said, feebly, as they entered the waiting
carriage which her mother had insisted she
should take if she would go "slumming," as
she had expressed it.
She turned an indignant face upon him.
"Why?" she demanded.
He tried to say something about a shock
to her nerves, and such sights and know
ledge being not for women.
"I had begun to feel that he respected me
believed in me wanted, in truth and not
merely in name, to share life with me, " she
thought, "but he does not: it is all a sham.
He wants someone who shall not share life
with him not even his mental life."
"You would come here with papa, would
you not?" she asked, presently. "You
would talk over, look at, think of the prob
lems of life with him," her voice began to
tremble.
"Certainly," he said, "but that is differ
ent. It"
"Yes, it is different; quite different.
24 pra\> J)ou, Sir, Idbose Baugbtcr?
You love papa, and it would be a pain td
you to keep your mental books locked up
from him. You respect papa, and you
would not be able to live a life of pretense
with him. You "
w Gertrude ! Oh, darling ! I love you.
I love you. You know that, " he said grasp
ing both her hands and covering them
with kisses. She snatched them away, and
covered her face with them to hide the tears
which were a surprise and shock to herself.
"I should not have taken her there," he
thought. "I m a great fool."
He did not at all comprehend the girl s
point of view, and she resented nis. He
could not imagine why, and her twenty
years of inexperience in handling such a
view of life as had suddenly grown up with
in her, made her unable to express quite
fully why she did resent his assumption that
she should not be allowed to use her heart
or brain beyond the limits set for their exer
cise by conventional theory. She could not
express in words why she felt insulted and
outraged in her self-respect that he should
assume that life was and should be led by
Jprag lew, Sir, Wbose Daugbter? 25
her, upon a distinctly different and narrower
plane than his own. She knew that she
could not accept his explanation, that it was
his intense love that wished to shield her
from knowledge of all that was ugly of all
the deeper and sadder meanings of human
experience; but she felt unequal to making
him understand by any words at her com
mand how far from her idea of an exalted
love such an assumption was.
That he should sincerely believe that as a
matter of course much that was and should
be quite common in his own life should be
kept from, covered up, blurred into indis-
tinction to her, came to her with a shock
too sudden and heavy for words. She had
built an exalted ideal of absolute mental
companionship between those who loved.
She had always thought that one day she
should pass through the portals of some vast
building by the side of a husband to whom
all within was new as it would be to her.
She had fancied that neither spoke; that
both read the tablets of architecture and
of human legend on every face so nearly
alike that by a glance of the eye she could
26 praB JIJou, Sir, TKttbose Daughter t
say to him, " I know what you are thinking
of all this. It stirs such or such a memory.
It strikes the chord that holds these thoughts
or those." But she read as plainly now that
this man who thought he loved her, whom
she had grown to feel she might one day
love, had no such conception of a union of
lives. To him marriage would mean- a phys
ical possession of a toy more or less valuable,
more or less to be cherished or to be set un
der a glass case, whenever his real life, his
real thoughts, his deeper self were stirred.
These were to be kept for men his men
tally developed equals. She understood full
well that if she could have said this to him
he would have been shocked, would have re
sented such a contemptuous interpretation of
what he truly believed to be a wholly respect
ful love,off ered upon wholly respectful terms.
But to her, it seemed the mere tossing down
of a filbert to a pretty kitten, that it might
amuse him for a few moments with its grace
ful antics. "When he tired of the kitten, or
bethought him of the serious duties of life,
he could turn the key and count on finding
the amusing little creature to play with
J?ou, Sir, IWlbose Daughter? 27
again next day in case he cared to relax
himself with a sight of its gambols. She
resented such a view of the value of her
life. She was humiliated and indignant.
The perfectly apparent lack of comprehen
sion on his part of any lapse of respect in
attitude toward her, the entire unconscious
ness of the insult to her whole nature, in his
assumption of a divine right of individual
growth and development to which she had
no claim, stung her beyond all power of
speech. The very fact that he had no com
prehension of the affront himself, added to
it its utterly hopeless feature. The love of
a man offered on such terms is an insult, she
said, over and over to herself; but aloud she
said nothing.
She had heard, vaguely, through her tu
mult of feeling, his terms of endearment,
his appeals to her tenderness and alas!
unfortunately for him his apologies for
having taken her to such a place. She be
came distinctly aware of these latter first
and it steadied her. They had reached
Washington Square.
" Yes, that revelation in Mulberry Street
28 IPras HJoii, Sir, "GClbose 2>au0bter?
was a horrible shock to me," she said, look
ing at him for the first time since they had
entered the carriage ; " but, do you know,
I think there are more shocking things than
even that done in the name of love every
day things as heartless and offensively
uncomprehending of what is fine and true in
life as that wretched woman s conduct with
the lifeless form of her baby."
He recognized a hard ring in her voice,
but her eyes looked kind and gentle.
" How do you mean? " he asked, touch
ing her hand as it lay on her empty purse
in her lap.
" I don t believe I could ever make you
understand what I mean, we are so hope
lessly far apart," she said, a little sadly.
" That an explanation is necessary that is
the hopeless part. That that poor woman
did not comprehend that her conduct and
callousness were shocking that was the
hopeless part. To make you understand
what I mean would be like making her. un
derstand all the hundreds of awful things
that her conduct meant to us. If it is not
lou, Sir, TKHbose 2>augbtec? 29
in one s nature to comprehend without
words, then words are useless."
His vehement protests stirred her sympa
thy again.
:? You say that love brings people near to
gether. Do you know I am beginning
to think that nothing could be a greater
calamity than that? Drawn together by a
love that rests on a physical basis for those
who refuse to allow it root in a common
sympathy and a community of thought it
must fail s ooner or later. A humbled ac
ceptance of the crumbs of her husband s
life, or a resentful endurance of it, may re
sult from the accursed faithfulness or the
pitiful dependence of wives, but surely
surely no greater calamity could befall her
and no worse fate lie in wait for him."
Her lover stared at her, pained and puz
zled. When they reached her door he
grasped her hand.
" I thought you loved me last night, and
I went away in an ecstasy of hope. To
day"
"Perhaps I do love you," she said; "but
I do not respect you, because you do not
30 IPras lou, Sir, Wbose H>augbter?
respect me." He made a quick sound of
dissent, but she checked him. You do not
respect womanhood; you only patronize
women you only patronize me. I could
not give you a right to do that for life.
Good-bye. Don t come in this time. Wait.
Let us both think."
" Let us both think," he repeated, as he
started down the street. f Think ! Think
what? I had no idea that Gertrude would
be so utterly unreasonable. It is a girl s
whim. She ll get over it, but it is deucedly
uncomfortable while it lasts."
"Mamma, said Gertrude, when she
reached her mother s pretty room on the
third floor. " Mamma, do you suppose if a
girl really and truly loved a man that she
would stop to think whether he had a high
or a low estimate of womanhood?"
The girl s mother looked up startled.
She was quite familiar with what she had
always termed the " superhumanly aged re
marks " of her daughter, but the new turn
they had taken surprised her.
"I don t believe she would, Gertrude.
Are you imagining yourself in love
li?ou, Sir, Whose H>au0bter7 31
with some man who is not chivalrous to
ward women?" Mrs. Foster smiled at the
mere idea of her daughter caring much for
any man. She thought she had observed
her too closely to make a mistake in the
matter.
Gertrude evaded the first question.
"I once heard a very brilliant man say
what I did not then understand that chiv
alry was always the prelude to imposition.
I believe I don t care very especially for
chivalry. Fair play is better, don t you
think so?" She did not pause for a reply,
but began taking off her long gloves.
:? Which would you like best from papa,
flattery or square-toed, honest truth?"
Her mother laughed.
" Gertrude, you are perfectly ridiculous.
The institution of marriage, as now estab
lished, wouldn t hang together ten minutes
if your square-toed, honest truth, as you
call it, were to be tried between husbands
and wives. Most wives are frightened
nearly to death for fear they will become
acquainted with the truth some day. They
don t want it. They were not built for
32 praE l!?ou, Sir, TJClbose 5>augbtet?
it." Gertrude began to move about the
room impatiently. Her mother smiled at
her and went on: "Don t you look at it
that way? Ko? AVell, you are young yet.
Wait until you ve been married three
years "
The girl turned upon her with an indig
nant face. Then suddenly she threw her
arms about her mother s neck.
" Poor mamma, poor mamma," she said.
" Didn t you find out for three years after?
How did you bear it? I should have com
mitted suicide. I "
" Oh, no you wouldn t ! " said her mother,
with a bitter little inflection. "They all
talk that way. Girls all feel so, if they
know enough to feel at all to think at all.
They rage and wear out their nerves as
you are doing now, heaven knows why
and the beloved husband calls a doctor and
buys sweets and travels with the precious
invalid, and never once suspects that he is
at the bottom of the whole trouble. It
never dawns upon him that what she is dy
ing for is a real and loyal companionship,
such as she had fondly dreamed of, and not
fou, Sir, Wbose 2>augbter? 33
at all for sea air. It doesn t enter his mind
that she feels humiliated because she knows
that a great part of his life is a sealed book
to her, and that he wishes to keep it so."
She paused, and her daughter stroked her
cheek. This was indeed a revelation to the
girl. She had been wholly deceived by her
mother s gay manner all these years. She
was taking herself sharply to task now.
J? But by and by when she succeeds in
killing all her self-respect; when she makes
up her mind that the case is hopeless, and
that she must expect absolutely no frank
ness in life beyond the limits of conven
tional usage prescribed for purblind babies;
after she arrives at the point where she dis
covers that her happiness is a pretty fiction
built on air foundation well, daughter,
after that she she strives to murder all
that is in her beyond and above the petty
simpleton she passes for and she suc
ceeds fairly well, doesn t she? "
There was a cynical smile on her lips, and
she made an elaborate bow to her daughter.
w Oh, mamma, I beg your pardon ! " ex
claimed the girl, almost frightened. "I
34 IPrag fou, Sir, "Wflboae Daughter?
truly beg your pardon! It you : I "
Her mother looked steadily out of the
window. Then she said, slowly, " How did
you come to find all this out before you
were married, child? Have I not done a
mother s duty by you in keeping you in
ignorance, so far as I could, of all the
struggles and facts of life of^-"
The bitter tone was in her voice again.
Gertrude was hurt by it, it was so full of
self-reproach mingled with self-contempt.
She slipped her arm about her mother s
waist.
" Don t, mamma," she said. "Don t blame
yourself like that. I m sure you have
always done the best possible the "
Her mother laughed, but the note was not
pleasant.
:f Yes, I always did the lady-like thing,
nothing. I floated with the tide. Take my
advice, daughter, float. If you don t,
you ll only tire yourself trying to swim
against a tide that is too strong for you and
and nothing will come of it. Nothing at
all."
The girl began to protest with the self-
lt?ou, Sir, Wbose Daugbter? 35
confidence of youth, but her mother went
on. She had taken the bit in her teeth to
day and meant to run the whole race.
"Do you suppose I did not know about
the Spillini family? About the thousands
of Spillini families? Do you suppose I did
not know that the rent of ten such families
their whole earnings for a year would
be spent on on a pretty inlaid prayer-book
like this?" She tapped the jeweled cross
and turned it over on her lap. The girl s
eyes were wide and almost fear-filled as she
studied her handsome care-free mother in
her new mood.
"Did you really suppose I did not know
that this gem on the top of the cross is dyed
with the life-blood of some poor wretch, and
that this one represents the price of the
honor of a starving girl?" She shivered,
and the girl drew back. "Did you fancy
me as ignorant and as happy as I have
talked? Don t you know that it is the sole
duty of a well-bred woman to be ignorant
and happy? Otherwise she is morbid!"
She pronounced the word affectedly, and
then laughed a bitter little laugh.
36 pras l!}ou, Sir, IKIlbose 2>auflbter?
"Don t, mamma," said the girl, again. "I
quite understand now, quite " She laid
her head on her mother s bosom and was
silent. Presently she felt a tear drop on
her hair. She put her hand up to her
mother s cheek and stroked it.
:? The game went against you, didn t it,
mamma?" she said softly. "And you were
not to blame." She felt a little shiver run
over her mother s frame and a sob crushed
back bravely that hurt her like a knife.
Presently two hands lifted the girl s face.
:? You don t despise me, daughter? In
my position the price of a woman s peace is
the price of her own self-respect. I did not
lose the game. I gave it up ! "
Gertrude kissed her on eyes and lips.
"Poor mamma, poor mamma," she said
softly, "I wonder if I shall do the same!"
For the first time since she entered the
room, the daughter appeared to appeal for,
rather than to offer, sympathy and strength.
Her mother was quick to respond.
" If you never learn to love anyone very
much, daughter, you may hope to keep your
self-respect. If you do you will sell it all
H)ou, Sir, Whose Daugbter? 37
for his. And and "
" Lose both at last? " asked the girl, hoarse
ly. Katherine Foster closed her eyes for a
moment to shut out her daughter s face.
T "Will you ever have had his? " she asked,
with her eyes still closed. "Do men ever
truly respect their dupes or their inferiors?
Do you truly respect anyone to whom you
are willing to deny truth, honor, dignity?
Is it respect, or only a tender, pitying love
we offer an intellectual cripple one Avhose
mental life we know to be, and desire to
keep, distinctly below our own? Do "
She opened her eyes and they rested on an
onyx clock. She laughed. " Come, daugh
ter," she said, "it is time to dress for the
Historical Club s annual dinner. You know
I am one of the guests of honor to-day.
They honor me so truly that I am not per
mitted to join the club or be ranked as a
useful member at all. My work they accept
flatter me by praising in a lofty way ; but
I can have no status with them as an histo
rian I am a woman ! "
Gertrude sprang to her feet. Her eyes
flashed fire.
38 ifrraE l>ou, Sir, "QQbose BaiiQbter?
" Don t go ! I wouldn t allow them to "
The door opened softly. Mr. Foster s
face appeared.
"Why, dearie, aren t you ready for the
Historical Club? I wouldn t have you late
for anything. You know I, as the vice-
president, am to respond to the toast on,
Woman: the highest creation, and God s
dearest gift to mankind. It wouldn t look
well if you were not there. "
" No, dear," she said, without glancing at
Gertrude. "It would not look well. I ll
be ready in a minute. Will you help me,
Gertrude?"
T Yes," said the girl, and her deft fingers
flew at the task. When the door closed
behind her mother and the carriage rolled
away, she threw herself face down on the
bed and ground her teeth. "Shall I float,
or try to swim up stream?" she said, to her
self. :r Will either one pay for what it will
cost? Shall "
"Miss Gertrude, dinner is served," said
the maid; and she went to the table alone.
? To think that a visit to the Spill ini fam
ily should have led to all this," she thought,
l!>ou, Sir, Tixabose 5>augbtet? 39
and felt that life, as it had been, was over
for her.
Aloud she said:
" James, the berries, please, and then you
may go."
And James told Susan that in his opinion
the man that got Miss Gertrude was going
to get the sweetest, simplest, yieldingest
girl he ever saw except one, and Susan
vowed she could not guess who that one
was.
But apparently James did not wholly be
lieve her, for he essayed to sportively poke
her under the chin with an index finger that
very evidently had seen better days prior to
having come into violent contact with a
base ball, which, having a mind and a curve
of its own, had incidentally imparted an ec
centric crook to the unfortunate member.
"Don t you dast t touch me with that old
pot hook, er I ll scream," exclaimed Susan,
dodging the caress. " I don t see no sense
in a feller gettin hisself all broke up that a
way," and Susan, from the opposite side of
the butler s table, glanced admiringly at her
own shapely hand, albeit the wrist might
40 flp>rag iou, Sir, "Cdboae Daughter?
have impressed fastidious taste as of toO
robust proportions, and the fingers have
suggested less of flexibility than is desira
ble.
But to James the hand was perfect, and
Susan, feeling her power, did not scruple to
use it with brutal directness. She had that
shivering dislike for deformity which is pos
sessed by the physically perfect, and she
took it as a private grievance that James
should have taken the liberty to break one
of his fingers without her knowledge and
consent. Until he had met her, James had
carried his distorted member as a badge of
honor. ]STo warrior had worn more proudly
his battle scars. For, to James, to be a
catcher in a base ball club was honor
enough for one man, and he had never
dreamed of a loftier ambition. He had
grown to keep that mutilated finger ever to
the fore as a retired general might carry an
empty sleeve. It gave distinction and told
of brave and lofty achievement, so James
thought.
Susan had modified his pride in the dis
located digit, but he had not yet learned to
l^ou, Sir, Wbose Daughter t 41
keep it always in the background. It had
several times before interfered with his love-
making, and James was humble.
" Oh, now, Susie, don t you be so hard on
that there old base-ball finger! I didn t
know it was a-going to touch your lovely
dimple," and he held the offending member
behind his back, as he slowly circled around
the table towards the haughty Susan. " By
gum! I b lieve I left a mark on your chin.
Lemme see." She thought she understood
the ruse, but when he kissed her she pre
tended deep indignation and flounced out of
the room, but the look on her face caused
James to drop his left eyelid over a twinkling
orb and shake his sides with satisfaction as he
removed the dishes after Miss Gertrude had
withdrawn from the dining room.
42 iPras i?ou, Sir, TlClbose Daughter 1
TV.
The visit to the Spillini family had, in
deed, led to strange complications and far-
reaching results. No one who had known
young Selden Avery and his social life
would ever have suspected him, or any mem
ber of his set, of a desire to take part in
what, by theif club friends or favorite re
views, was usually alluded to as the "dirty
pool of politics." For the past decade
political advancement, at least in ~New York,
had grown to be looked upon by many as a
mere matter of purchase and sale, and as
quite beneath the dignity of the more
Defined and cultured men. It had been
heralded as a vast joke, therefore, when
young Selden Avery, the representative of
one of the most cultured families and the
honored son of an. honored ancestry, had
suddenly announced himself as a candidate
for the Assembly. His club friends guyed
lou, Sir, Whose 5>au0bter? 43
him unmercifully. !? We never did believe
that you were half as good as you pretended
to be, Avery," said one of them, the first
time he appeared at the club after his nomi
nation, "but I don t believe a man of us
ever suspected you of the depths of de
pravity that this implies. What ever did
put such a ridiculous idea into such a level
and self-respecting head? Out with it!"
Banter of this nature met him on every
hand. He realized more fully than ever
how changed the point of view had grown
to be from the historical days of Washing
ton or even of Lincoln. He recalled the
time when in his own boyhood his honored
father had served in the Legislature of his
native state, and had not felt it other than
a crowning distinction. 2sor had it been so
looked upon then by his associates.
Nevertheless the constant jokes and gibes,
which held something of a real sting, had
become so frequent that young Avery felt
like resenting his friends humorous thrusts.
"I can t see that I need be ashamed "to
follow in the footsteps of my father," he
said, a little hotly. " Some of the noblest of
44 Pra l!?ou t Sir, TUHbose Daugbter?
men those upon whom the history of this
country depends for lustre held seats in
the Assembly, and helped shape the laws of
their states. I don t see why I need apolo
gize for a desire to do the same."
"It used to be an association of gentle
men up at the state capital, my boy. To
day it is Lord! you know what it is, I
guess. But if you don t, just peruse 1 this
sacred volume," laughed his friend, sarcasti
cally, producing a small pamphlet.
"Looks to me as if you d be rather out
of your element with your colleagues.
M-m-m! Yes, here is the list. Hunted
this up after I heard you were going to
stand for your district."
The English form of expression was no
affectation, for the speaker was far more
familiar with political nomenclature abroad
than at home. He would have felt it an
honor to a man to be called upon to " stand "
for his constituency in London, but to " run"
for it in ~New York was far less dignified.
Standing gave an idea of repose; running
was vulgar. Then, too, the State Legisla
ture did not bear the proportionate rela-
lent, Sir, Wboac 2>augbtet? 45
tionship to Congress that the Commons did
to Parliament, and it was always in con
nection with that latter body that he had
associated the term.
"Let me see. One, two, three, four,
teen steen yes, I thought I was right!
Just exactly nineteen of your nearest col
leagues are saloon keepers. One used to
keep that disorderly house on Prince Street,
four are butchers, one was returned because
he had won fame as a base-ballist and but
why go further? Here, Martin, I m trying
to convince Avery that it will be a trifle
trying on his nerves to hobnob with the new
set he s making for. Don t you think it
is rather an anti-climax from the Union to
the lower house at Albany? Ye gods!"
and he laughed, half in scorn and half in
real amusement.
John Martin had extended his hand for
the small pamphlet of statistics. He ran his
eye over the list, and then turned an amused
face upon Avery.
"Think you ll like it?" he asked, dryly.
Or are you taking it as my French friend
here says his countrymen take heaven?"
46 pras lou, Sir, Tldbose SDaugbter?
"How s that?" queried Aveiy, smiling.
"In broken doses or not at all?"
The French gentleman stood with that
poise which belongs to the successful man.
He glanced from one to the other and spread
his hands to either side.
"All Frenchmen desire to go to ze heaven,
zhentlemen. "Why? Ah, zere air two at-
traczions which to effrey French zhentle-
man air irresisteble. Ze angels zey air
women and I suppose zat ze God weal
also be an attraczion. Ees eet not so?"
Every one in the group laughed and he
went gravely on.
" I zink zat eet ees true ees eet not? zat
loafly woman will always be vara much ob-
searved even in ze heaven eef we zhentlemen
are zere. Eef? " He cast up the corners
of his eyes, and made another elaborate
movement of his hands.
The others all laughed again.
:? Yes, zhentlemen, ze true Frenchman
cares for two zings: a new sensation
somesing zey haf not before experienced,
and zat ees God ; and for zat which zey
feu, Sir, Wbosc Daughter 1 47
haf obscarved, but of which zey can naavear
obsearve enough loafly woman ! "
The explosion of laughter that greeted
this sally brought about them a number of
other gentlemen, and the talk drifted into
different channels Presently young Avery
glanced at his watch and started, with rather
a sore heart, toward the door. He remem
bered that he had promised the managers
of his campaign that he would be seen that
evening at a certain open-air garden fre
quented by the humbler portion of his con
stituency. He concluded to go alone the
first time that he might the better observe
without attracting too much attention. This
plan was thought wise to enable him to meet
the exigencies of the coming campaign when
he should be called upon to speak to this ele
ment of his supporters.
Once outside the club house, he took a
card from his pocket and glanced at the
directions he had jotted upon it.
"I ll walk across to the elevated," he
thought, "and make my connection for
Grady s place that way. It will save time
and look more democratic.
48 ff>rag Uou, Sir, Wbose H>au0bter?
Y.
The infinite pathos of life was never
better illustrated, perhaps, than in the
merry-making that night at Grady s Pavil
ion. The easy camaradarie between con
scious and unconscious vice; the so-evident
struggle the young girls had made to be
beautiful and stylish, and the ghastly result
of their cheap and incongruous finery;
their ignorant acceptance of leers that
meant to them honest admiration or affec
tion, and to others meant far different
things; their jolly, thoughtless, eager effort
to get something joyful out of their narrow
lives; the brilliant tints in which they saw
the future, and the ghastly light in which
it stood revealed to older and more experi
enced eyes, would have combined to depress
a heart less tender and a vision less clear
than could have been attributed to Seldcn
Avery. ISTot that Grady s Pavilion was a
lou, Sir, "Qftbose Daugbter? 49
bad place. Many of the girls present would
not have been there had it been known
as anything short of quite respectable; but
it was a free and easy place, where vice
meets ignorance without having first made
an appointment, where opportunity shakes
the ungloved hand of youth and leaves a
stain upon the tender palm too deep and
dark for future tears to wash away.
"I wonder if I am growing morbid,"
mused Avery, as he sighed for the third
time while looking at the face of a girl
not over eighteen years old, but already
marked by lines that told of a vaguely
dawning comprehension of what the future
held for her. Her round-eyed companion,
a girl with a childish mind and face, sat
beside her, but all the world was bright
to her. Life held a prince, a fortune and
a career which would be hers one day. She
had only to wait, look pretty, and be ready
when the apple of fortune fell. Her part
was to hold out a pretty apron to break
its descent.
" Oh, the infinite pathos of youth ! " mut
tered Avery, feeling himself very old with
50 prag l^ou, Sir, Wbose 2>augbter7
his thirty years of wider experience as his
eyes turned from one girl to the other. " It
is hard to tell which is the sadder sight; the
disillusioned one or the one who will be even
more roughly awakened to-morrow."
His heart ached whenever he studied the
face of a young girl. ? There is nothing so
sad in all the wretched world," he sometimes
said, " as the birth of a girl in this grade of
life. I am not sure that the nations we look
upon as barbarous because they strangle the
little things before they are able to think I
am not at all sure that they are not more
civilized than we after all. We only maim
them with ignorance and utter dependence,
and then turn them out into a life where
either of these alone is an incalculable curse,
and the combination is as fatal as fire in a
field of ripened grain."
The younger girl was looking at him.
Her wide expectant eyes rested on his face
with a frankness and interest that touched
his mood anew.
"Poor little- thing," he said, half aloud;
" if I were to see her bound hand and foot
and cast into a den of wolves, I might hope
l!?ou t Sir, Idbose Baugbter? 51
to rescue her; but from this, for such as she
there is absolutely no escape. How dare
people bring into the world those who must
suffer? "
"Huh?" said a voice beside him. He had
spoken in a semi-audible tone, and his neigh
bor had responded after his habitual fashion,
to what he looked upon as an overture to
conversation.
"I did not intend to speak aloud," said
Avery, turning to glance at the man beside
him ; " but I was just wondering how people
dared to have children girls particularly."
The man beside him turned his full face
upon him and examined him critically from
head to foot. Then he laughed. It was
the first time he had ever heard it hinted
that it was not a wholly commendable thing
to bring as many children into the world as
nature would permit. His first thought had
been that Avery was insane, but after look
ing at him he decided that he was only
a grim joker.
"I reckon they don t spend no great deal
of time prayin over the subject," he said,
laughing again. Then he crossed his legs
52 prag l^ou, Sir, Wbose Bauabter?
and added, "an I don t suppose they get
any telegrams tellin them they re goin
to be girls, neither. If they did, a good
many men would lick the boy that brought
the despatch, for God knows most of us
would a darn sight rather have boys."
The laugh had died out of his voice, and
there was a ring of disappointment and
aggrieved trouble in it. Selden Avery
shifted his position.
"I was not looking at it from the point of
view of the parents of unwelcome girls," he
said, presently, w but from the outlook of the
girls of unwelcome parents. The reckon
ing from that side looks to me a good deal
longer than the other." His voice was
pleasant, but his eyes looked perplexed and
determined. His neighbor began to re
adjust his opinion of Avery s sanity, and
moved his chair a little farther away before
he spoke.
"Got any childern of your own?" he
inquired, succintly. Avery shook his head.
The man drew down the corners of his
mouth in a contemptuous grimace. "I
thought not. If you had, you d take it a
10ou, Sf^TJQbose Dausbter? 53
darn sight easiev. Childern are an ungrat-
ful lot. They re never satisfied or next to
never. They think you re made for their
comfort instead of their bein for yours.
I ve got nine, and I know what I m talkin
about. If you ve got any sympathy to
throw away don t waste it on childern.
Parents, in these days of degenerate young
sters, are passin around the hat for sympa
thy. In my day it was just the other way.
If one of the young ones went wrong,
people pitied the father and blamed the
child. Now-a-days they blame the father
and weep over the young one that makes
the mischief. It makes me mad."
He shut his teeth with a suddenness that
suggested a snap, and flashed a defiant look
about the room.
Avery glanced at his heavy, stubborn face,
and decided not to reply. He was in no
mood for controversy. And what good
could it do, he said to himself, to argue with
a mere lump of selfish egotism?
" That is an unusually pretty girl over by
the piano," he said, in a tone of mild indiff er-
54 fcras 12ou, Sir, TlClbose Daughter?
ence which he hoped would serve as a period
to the conversation.
" She s Tom Berton s girl," was the quick
reply. " Berton s up to Albany most o the
time, with me. I represent our district.
She s a nice little thing. She ll do anything
you ask her to. I never see her equal for
that. It s easier for her to do your way than
it is to do her own. She likes to; so every
body likes her. I wish I had one like her;
but my girls are as stubborn as mules.
They won t drive, and they won t lead, and
they d ruther kick than eat. I don t know
Avhere they got it. Their mother wasn t half
so bad that way, and the Lord knows it ain t
in my family. The girl she s with is one o
mine. She looks like she could eat tenpenny
nails. She might be just as pretty an just
as much liked as Ettie Berton, but she ain t.
She s always growlin about somethin . I ll
bet a dollar she ll growl about this when we
get home. Ettie will think it was splendid.
She d have a good time at a funeral; but
that girl of mine 11 get me to spend a dollar
to come here and then she ll go home dissat
isfied. It won t be up to what she expected.
UJou, Sir, TKHbose Daughter 1 55
Things never are. She s always lookin to
find things some other way. ^ow, what
would you do with a girl like that?" he
asked suddenly. Then without waiting for
a reply, he added, " I give her a good tongue
lashin , an as she always knows it s comin ,
she s got so she don t kick quite so much as
she used to, but she just sets an looks sul
len like that. It makes me so mad I
could "
He did not finish his remark, but got up
and strolled away without the formality of
an adieu.
Avery watched his possible future col
league until he was lost in the crowd, and
then he walked deliberately over to where
the two girls stood.
"I have been talking with your father,"
he said, smiling and bowing to the older
girl, "and although he did not say that I
might come and talk to you, he told me who
you were, and I think he would not object."
"Oh, no; he wouldn t object," said the
younger girl, eagerly. ? Would he Fan?
Everybody talks here. He told me so before
we came. It s the first time we ve been;
56
but he s been before. I think it s splendid,
don t yon?"
The older girl had not spoken. She was
looking at Selden Avery with half sup
pressed interest and embryonic suspicion.
She still knew too little of life to have
formed even a clearly denned doubt as to
him or his intentions in speaking to them.
She was less happy than she had expected
to be when she dressed to come, with her
ever-dawning hope for a real pleasure. She
thought there must be something wrong
with her because things never seemed to
come up to her expectations. She supposed
this must be " society," and that when she
got used to it, she would enjoy it more. But
somehow she had wanted to resent it the first
time a man spoke to her, and then, afterward,
she was glad she did not, for he had danced
with Ettie twice, and Ettie had said it was
a lovely dance. She had made up her mind
to accept the next offer she had, but when it
came, the eyes of the man were so beady-
black, and the odor of bay rum radiated
so insistently from him that she declined.
She hated bay rum because the worst
li?ou, Sir, Wbo0e Dausbter? 57
scolding her father ever gave her was
when she had emptied his cherished bottle
upon her own head. The odor always
brought back the heart-ache and resentment
of that day, and so she did not think she
cared to dance just then.
Selden Avery looked at Ettie. He did
not want to tell her what he did think and
he had not the heart to dampen her ardor,
so he simply smiled, and said:
" It is my first visit here, too ; and I don t
know a soul. I noticed you two young
ladies a while ago, and spoke of you to the
gentleman next to me and it chanced
to be your father" he turned to the older
girl again "so that was what gave me
courage to come over here. If I had
thought of it before he left me, I d have
asked him to introduce me, but I m rather
slow to think. My name is Selden Avery."
"Did father tell you mine?" she asked,
looking at him steadily, with eyes that held
floating ends of thoughts that were never
formed in full.
"J^o, he didn t," replied Avery, laughing
a little. " He told me yours, though," turn-
58 pras l!?ou, Sir, tClbosc Daugbter?
ing to the merry child at his side. "Ettie
Berton, Tom Berton s daughter."
Ettie laughed, and clapped her hands
together twice.
"Got it right the first time! But what
did he give me away for and not her? She
is Francis King. That is, her father s
name s King, but she is so awfully particu
lar about things and so hard to suit she
ought to be named Queen, I tell her, so
I call her Queen Fan mostly." There was
a little laugh all around, and Avery said :
"Very good, very good, indeed;" but
Francis looked uncomfortable and so he
changed the subject. Presently she looked
at him and asked :
"Do you think things are ever like they
are in books? Do you think this is? She
waved her hand toward the music and the
lights. "In the books I have read and
the story papers it all seems nicer than
this and and different. It is because I
say that, that they all make fun of me
and call me Queen Fan, and father says "
she paused, and a cold light gathered in her
eyes. "He don t like it, so I don t say it
lou, Sir, Idboee Daugbter? 59
much, now. He says it s all put on; but
it ain t. Everything does seem to turn out
so different from what you expected from
the way you read about. I ve not felt like I
thought maybe I should to-night because
because " She stopped again.
"Because why?" asked Avery, laughing
a little. "Because I m not a bit like the
usual story-book prince you ought to have
met and ?"
She smiled, and Ettie made a droll little
grimace.
"No, it wasn t that at all. I ve been
thinking most all evening that it wasn t
worth that "
"Oh, she s worried," put in Ettie, "be
cause she got her father to spend a dollar to
bring her. She s afraid he ll throw it up to
her afterward, and she thinks it won t pay
for that, so it spoils the whole thing before
he does it just being afraid he will. But I
tell her he won t, this time. I " Francis
eyes had filled with tears of mortification,
and Avery pretended not to have heard. He
affected a deep interest in the music.
" Do you know what it is they are playing
60 fcras i!)ou, Sir, Wbose Baugbter?
now?" he asked, with his eyes fixed upon
the musicians. W I thought at first that it
was going to be ~No, it is Pon my word
I can t recall it, and I ought to know what it
is, too. The first time I ever heard it, I
remember "
He turned toward where Francis had
stood, but she was gone. ? "Why, what has
become of Miss King?" he asked of the
other girl. Ettie looked all about, laughed
and wondered and chattered as gaily as a
bird.
"I expect she s gone home. She s the
queerest you ever saw. I guess she didn t
want me to say that about her pa. But it ll
make him madder than anything if she has
gone that way. He won t like it at all an
I can t blame him. What s the use to be so
different from other folks? " she inquired,
sagely, and then she added, laughing: "I
don t know as she is so different, either. We
all hate things, but we pretend we don t.
Don t you think it s better to pretend to like
things, whether you do or not?"
"No," replied Avery, beginning to look
with surprise upon this small philosopher
few, Sir, Whose DauQbter? 61
who had no conception of the worldly wis
dom of her own philosophy.
w I do," she said, laughing again. " It
goes down better. Everybody likes you
better. I ve found that out already, and so
I pretend to like everything. Of course I do
like some of em, and some I don t, but it s
just as easy to say you like em all." She
laughed again, and kept time with her toe
on the floor.
v Just what don t you like? " asked Avery,
smiling. :r "Won t you tell me, truly? I won t
tell anyone, and I d like to be sure of one
thing you object to on principle."
"Well, tob Do you smoke?" she
asked.
He shook his head, and pursed up his lips
negatively.
" I thought not," she said, gaily. * You
look like you didn t. Well, I hate- hate
hate hate smoke. When I go 011 a
ferry-boat, and the air is so nice and cool
and different from at home, and seems so
clean, I just love it, and then "
"Some one sits near you and smokes,"
put in Avery, consolingly.
62 pras lou, Sir, Idbose SDaugbter 1 !
r? Yes, they do; and I just most pray that
he ll fall over and get drownded but he
never does ; and if he asks me if I object to
smoke, I say, " oh ! not at all ! " and then he
thinks I m such a nice, sensible girl. Fan
tells em right out that she don t like it. It
makes her deadly sick, and the boys all hate
her for it. Her father says it s da I was
going to say his cuss word, but I guess I
won t. Anyhow, he says it s all nonsense
and put on. I guess I better go. There is
her father looking for us. Poor Fan ll catch
it when we get home! Good-night. I ve
had a lovely time, haven t you?" She
waved her hand. Then she retraced the
step she had taken. " Don t tell that I don t
like tobacco," she said, and started away
laughing. He followed her a few steps.
"How is any fellow to know what you
really do like?" he asked, smiling, "if you
do that way?"
"Fan says nobody wants to know," she
said, slyly. "She says they want to know
that I like what they want me to like, and
think what they think I think." She laughed
again, "And of course I do," she added,
pra*> U>ou, Sir, TKHbose Daugbter? 63
and bowed in mock submission. "ISTow, Fan
don t. That s where she misses it; and if
she don t reform," she said, lowering" her
voice, as she neared that young 1 lady s
father, " she is going to see trouble that is
trouble. I ll bet a cent on it. Don t you?"
she asked, as she bestowed a bright smile
upon Mr. King.
"Yes," said Avery, and lifting his hat,
turned on his heel and was lost in the
crowd.
"Where s Fan?" inquired that young
lady s father in a tone which indicated that,
as a matter of course, she was up to some
devilment again.
" She got a headache and went home
quite a while ago," said that young lady s
loyal little friend. "She enjoyed it quite a
lot till she did get a headache." As they
neared the street where both lived, Ettie
said: c That man talked to her, and I think
she liked him."
"Humph!" said Mr. King. "I wouldn t
be surprised. She d be likely to take to a
lunatic. I thought he was about the damned
est fool I ever saw; didn t you? "
64 pra lt)ou, Sir, TJQbose Daughter?
Yes," said Ettie, laughing, " and I liked
him for it."
Mr. King burst into a roar of laughter.
"Of course you did! You d like the devil.
You re that easy to please. I wish to the
Lord Fan was," and with a hearty " good
night," he left her at her father s door, and
crossed the street.
Once outside the garden, Avery drew
from his pocket the little pamphlet which
his club friend had given him, and ran his
finger down the list.
" King, member the ah, ha ! one end of
his ward joins mine! M-m-m; yes, I see.
He is one of the butchers. I suspected as
much. Let me see; yes, he votes my ticket,
too. If I m elected we ll be comrades-in
arms, so to speak. I suppose I ought to
have told him who I was ; but if I m elected
he ll find out soon enough, and if I m beaten
well, I can t say that I m anxious to ex
tend the acquaintance." He replaced the
book in his pocket as the guard called out,
< Thirty-Fourth Street! strain for Arlem!
and left the train, musing as he strolled
along. Yes, Gertrude was quite right
lew, Sir, TKibose Daughter? 65
quite. We fortunate ones have no right to
allow all this sort of thing to go on. We
have no right to leave it entirely to such
men as that to make the laws. I don t care
if the fellows up at the club do guy me.
Gertrude " He drew from his breast
pocket a little note, and read it for the tenth
time.
" I am so gratified to hear that you have
accepted the nomination," it said. T You
have the time, and mental and moral equip
ment to give to the work. Were I a man,
I should not sleep o nights until some way
was devised to prevent all the terrible pov
erty and ignorance and brutishness we were
talking about the other day. I went to see
that Spillini family again. I was afraid to
go alone, so I took with me two girls who
are in a sewing class, which is, just now, a
fad at our Church Guild. I thought their
experience with poverty would enable them
to think of a way to get at this case; but it
did not. They appeared to think it was all
right. It seems to me that ignorance and
poverty leave no room for thought, or even
for much feeling. It hurt me like a knife to
66 pras lew, Sir, Idbose Daughter?
have those girls laugh over it after we came
out; at least, one of them laughed, and the
other seemed scornful. It is not fair to ex
pect more of them, I know, for we expect so
little of ourselves. It is thinking of all this
that makes me write to tell you how glad I
am that you are to represent your district in
Albany. Such men are needed, for I know
you will work for the poor with the skill of
a trained intellect and a sympathetic heart.
I am so glad. Sincerely your friend, Ger
trude Foster."
Mr. Avery replaced the note in his
pocket, and smiled contentedly. "I don t
care a great deal what the fellows at the
club say," he repeated. "I m satisfied, if
Gertrude " He had spoken the last few
words almost audibly, and the name startled
him. He realized for the first time that he
had fallen into the habit of thinking of her
as Gertrude, and it suddenly flashed upon
him that Miss Foster might be a good deal
surprised by that fact if she knew it. He
fell to wondering if she would also be an
noyed. There was a tinge of anxiety in the
speculation. Then it occurred to him that
l>ou, Sir, TiClbose Daugbterl 67
the sewing class of the Guild might give an
outlet and a chance for a bit of pleasure to
that strange girl he had seen at Grady s
Pavilion, and he made a little memorandum,
and decided to call upon Gertrude and sug
gest it to her. He fell asleep that night and
dreamed of Gertrude Foster, holding out a
helping hand to a strange, tall girl, with
dissatisfied eyes, and that Ettie Berton was
laughing gaily and making everybody com
fortable, by asserting that she liked every
thing exactly as she found it.
68 pras l?ou, Sir, TUJlbose Daughter?
YI.
The next evening Avery called upon Ger
trude to thank her for her letter, and, inci
dentally, to tell her of the experience at
Grady s Pavilion, and bespeak the good
office of the Guild for those two human
pawns, who had, somehow, weighed upon
his heart.
Avery w r as not a Churchman nnnself, but
he felt very sure that any Guild which
would throw Gertrude Foster s influence
about less fortunate girls, would be good,
so he gave very little thought to the phase
of it which was not wholly related to the
personality of the young woman in whose
eyes he had grown to feel he must appear
well and worthy, if he retained his self-
respect. This bar of judgment had come,
by unconscious degrees, to be the one before
which he tried his own cases for and against
himself.
Jt)ou, Sir, TJdbose Daughter t 69
* Would Gertrude like it if she should
know? Would I dislike to have her know
that I did this or felt that? " was now so
constantly a part of his mental processes,
that he had become quite familiar with her
verdicts, which were most often passed
from his point of view, and in his own mind
without the knowledge of the girl herself.
He had never talked of love to her, except
in the general and impersonal fashion of
young creatures who are wont to eagerly
discuss the profound perplexities of life
without having come face to face with one
of them. One day they had talked of love
in a cottage. The conversation had been
started by the discussion of a new novel
they had just read, and Avery told her of a
strange fellow whom he knew, who had mar
ried against the wishes of his father, and
had been disinherited.
"He lost his grip, somehow," said Avery,
" and went from one disaster into another.
First he lost his place, and the little salary
they had to live on was stopped. It was no
fault of his. It had been in due course of a
business change in the firm he worked for.
70 Pra^ H?ou, Sir, lldbose augbtcrt
He got another, but not so good a situation,
but the little debts that had run up while he
was idle were a constant drag on him. He
never seemed able to catch up. Then his
wife s health failed. She needed a change
of climate, rare and delicate food, a quiet
mind relieved of anxiety, but he could not
give her these. His own nerves gave way
under the strain, and at last sickness over
took him, and he had to appeal to me for a
loan."
It was the letter which his friend had
written when in that desperate frame of
mind, which Avery read to Gertrude the
day they had discussed the novel together.
It was a strange, desperate letter, and it had
greatly stirred Gertrude. One passage in it
had rather shocked her. It was this:
:? When a fellow is young, and knows little
enough of life to accept the fictions of fic
tion as guides, he talks or thinks about it as
? love in a cottage. After he has tried it a
while, and suffered in heart and soul because
of his love of those whom he must see day
after day handicapped in mind and wrecked
in body for the need of larger means, he
l?ou, Sir, Tldbose Daugbter? 71
begins to speak of it mournfully as f poverty
with love. But when that awful day comes,
when sickness or misfortune develops before
j,iis helpless gaze all the horrors of depend
ence and agony of mind that the future out
look shows him, then it is that the fitting
description comes, and he feels like painting
above the door he dreads to enter f hell at
home. Without the love there would be no
home ; without the poverty no hell. Neither
lightens the burdens of the other. Each
multiplies all that is terrible in both."
Gertrude had listened to the letter with a
sad heart. When she did not speak, Avery
felt that he should modify some of its terms
if he would be fair to his absent acquaint
ance.
" Of course he would have worded it a
little differently if he had known that any
one else would read it. He was desperate.
He had gone through such a succession of
disasters. If anything was going to fall it
seemed as if he was sure to be under it, so I
don t much wonder at his language after "
" I don t wonder at it at all," said Ger
trude, looking steadily into the fire. <:t What
72 IPrag ]ou t Sir, Wbose 2>au0btert
seems wonderful, is the facts which his
words portray. I can see that they are
facts; but what I cannot see is is "
w How he could express them so raspingly
so V " began Avery, but she turned to
him quite frankly surprised.
" Oh, no ! ]N"ot that. But how can it be
right that it should be so? And if it is not
right, why do not you men who have the
power, do something to straighten things
out? Is this sort of suffering absolutely
necessary in the world?"
It was this talk and its suggestions which
had led Avery to first take seriously into
consideration the proposition that he run for
a seat in the Assembly. It seemed to him
that men like himself, who had both leisure
and convictions, might do some good work
there, and he began to realize that the law-
making of the state was left, for the most
part, in very dangerous hands, and that a
law once passed must inevitably help to
crystalize public opinion in such a way as
to retard freer or better action.
? To think of allowing that class of men
to set the standards about which public
12ou, Sir, mbosc 2>au0bter? 73
opinion forms and rallies ! " he thought, as
the professional politician arose before him,
and his mind was made up. He would be a
candidate. So the night after his experi
ence at Grady s Pavilion he had another
puzzle to lay before Gertrude. When he
entered the hallway he was sorry to hear
voices in the drawing-room. He had hoped
to find Gertrude and her mother alone. His
first impulse was to leave his card and call
at another time, but the servant, recogniz
ing his hesitation, ventured a bit of informa
tion.
"Excuse me, Mr. Avery, but I don t think
they will be here long. It s a couple of
They"
* Thank you, James. Are they not friends
of Miss Gertrude?"
James smiled in a manner which dis
played a large capacity for pity.
:? Well, sir, I shouldn t say they was ex
actly friends. iNb, sir, ner yet callers, sir.
They re some of them Guilders."
Avery could not guess what Gertrude
would have gilders in the drawing-room for
at that hour, but decided to enter. "Mr.
74 Prag l^ou, Sir, TKflbose Daughter 7
Avery;" said James, in his most formal and
perfunctory fashion, as he drew back the
portiere and announced the new arrival. ~No
one would have dreamed from the stolid
front presented by the liveried functionary,
that he had just exchanged confidences with
the guest.
w Let me introduce my friends to you, Mr.
Avery," began Gertrude, and two figures
arose, and from one came a gay little laugh,
a mock courtesy, and " Law me ! It s him !
"Well, if this don t beat the Dutch! "
She extended her hand to him and laughed
again. * We didn t shake hands last night,
but now s we re regul rly interduced I guess
we will," she added.
Avery took her hand, and then offered
his to her companion, and bowed and smiled
again.
" Really, I shall begin to grow supersti
tious," he said, in an explanatory tone to
Gertrude. " I came here to-night to see if
I could arrange to have you three young
ladies meet; to learn if there was a chance
at the Guild to -
"Oh," smiled Gertrude, beginning to
JJou, Sir, TKHbose DaugbterT 75
grasp the situation. " How very nice ! But
these two are my star girls at the Guild
now. We were just arranging some work
for next week, but "
? Yas, she wants to go down to that Spil-
lini hole agin," broke in Ettie Berton, and
Francis King glanced suspiciously from
Gertrude to Avery. She wondered just
what these two were thinking. She felt
very uncomfortable and wished that he had
not come . in. She had not spoken since
Avery entered, and he realized her discom
fort.
You treated us pretty shabbily last
night, Miss King," he said, smiling, and
then he turned to Gertrude. " She left me
in the middle of a remark. We met at
Grady s Pavilion, and if I m elected, I learn
that the fathers of both of these young
ladies will be my companions-in-arms in the
Assembly. They " In spite of herself,
Gertrude s face showed her surprise, but
Ettie Berton broke in with a gay laugh.
"Are you in politics? Law me! I d
never a believed it. I don t see how you re
agoin to get on unless you get a "
76 fi>ras l)ou, Sir, Wbose Daughter?
She realized that her remark was going to
indicate a belief in certain incapacity in him,
and she took another cue.
" My pa says nobody hardly can t get on
in politics by himself. You see my pa is a
sort of a starter for Fan s pa in politics, re
else he d never got on in the world. Fan s
pa backs him, and he starts things that her
pa wants started."
Francis moved uneasily, and Gertrude
said : T That is natural enough since they
were friends here, and, I think you told me,
were in business together, didn t you? "
Ettie laughed, and clapped her hands
gaily. T That s good ! In business together !
Oh, Lord, I ll tell pa that. He ll roar. Why,
pa is a prerofessional starter. He ain t in busi
ness with no particular one only jest while
the startin s done."
The girl appeared to think that Avery
and Gertrude were quite familiar with pro
fessional starters, and she rattled on gaily.
"I thought I d die the time he started
them butcher shops for Fan s pa, though.
He hadn t never learnt the difference be
tween a rib roast n a soup bone, n he had
H?ou, Sir, TtClbose >augbter? 77
to keep a printed paper hung np inside o ?
the ice chest so s he d know which kind of a
piece he got out to sell; but he talked so
nfce an smooth all the time he was a gettin
it out, an tole each customer that the piece
they asked fer was the ? choicest part of the
animal, but that mighty few folks had sense
enough to know it oh, it was funny ! I
used to get where I could hear him, and jest
die a laughin . He d sell the best in the
shop for ten cents a pound, an he d cut it
which ever way they ast him to, an make
heavy weight. His price list was a holy
show, but he jest scooped in all the trade
around there in no time, an the other shops
had to move. Then you ought t a seen
Fan s pa come in there an brace things up !
Whew ! " She laughed delightedly, and
Francis s face flushed.
w He braced prices up so stiff that some o
the customers left, but most of em stayed
rather n hunt up a new place to start books
in. Pa, he d started credit books with all
of em.
Pa, he was in the back room the first day
Fan s pa and the new clerk took the shop,
78 pras l?ou, Sir, Idbose Baugbter?
after pa got it good n started. Him an
me most died laughin at the kickin o the
people. Every last one of em ast fer pa to
wait on em, but Fan s pa he told em that
he d bankrupted hisself and had t sell out
to him. Pa said he wisht he had somethin
to bankrupt on. But, law, he ll never make
no money. He ain t built that way. He s
a tip-top perfessional starter tho , ain t he,
Fan? " she concluded with a gleeful reminis
cent grimace at her friend. Francis shifted
her position awkwardly, and tried to feel
that everything was quite as it should be in
good society, and Gertrude made a little
attempt to divert the conversation to affairs
of the Guild, but Ettie Berton, who ap
peared to look upon her father as a huge
joke, and to feel herself most at home in
discussing him, broke in again :
" But the time he started the ? Stable fer
Business Horses, was the funniest yet,"
and she laughed until her eyes filled with
tears, and she dried them with the lower
part of the palms of her hands, rubbing
them red.
" The boss told him not to take anything
li?ou, Sir, Tldbose Daugbter? 79
but business horses. "What he meant was, to
be sure not to let in any fancy high-step
pers, fer fear they d get hurt or sick, an
h e d have trouble about em. "Well, pa
didn t understand at first, an he wouldn t
take no mules, an most all the business
horses around there was mules, an when
drivers d ask him why he wouldn t feed
em er take em in, he jest had t fix up the
funniest stories y ever heard. He tole one
man that he hadn t laid in the kind o feed
mules eat, n the man told him he was the
biggest fool to talk he ever see. The mule-
man he "
Francis King had arisen, and started
awkwardly toward Gertrude, with her hand
extended.
" I think we ought to go," she said, unea
sily, her large eyes burning with mortifica
tion, and an oppressed sense of being at a
disadvantage.
" So soon?" said Gertrude, smiling as she
took her hand, and laid her other arm about
the shoulders of Ettie, who had hastened to
place herself in the group. :c I was so en
tertained that I did not realize that perhaps
80 P>ras lt)ou, Sir, TKHboee Daughter?
you ought to go before it grows late oh,"
glancing at a tiny watch in her bracelet, " it
is late too late for you to go way down
there alone. I will send James, or "
"Allow me the pleasure, will you not? "
asked Avery, bowing first to Gertrude, and
then toward Francis, and Gertrude said :
" Oh, thank you, if " but Ettie clapped
her hands in glee.
"Well, that s too rich! Just as if we
didn t go around by ourselves all the time,
and Lord ! pa says if anybody carries me
off he d only go as far as the lamp-post, and
drop me as soon as the light struck me!
Now Fan s pretty, but * " she laughed, and
made clawing movements in the air. " No
body 11 get away with Queen Fan s long s
she s got finger-nails n teeth." She snapped
her pretty little white teeth together with
mock viciousness, and laughed again. " I d
just pity the fellow that tried any tomfool
ery with Queen Fan. He d wish he d died
young! "
They all laughed a bit at this sally, and
Avery said he did not want Miss King to be
forced to extremities in self-protection while
|pra 2?ou, Sir, "CGlbose Daughter? 81
he was able to relieve her of the necessity.
When James closed the door behind the
laughing group, he glanced at Miss Ger
trude to see what she thought of it, but he
remarked to Susan later on, that " Miss
Gertrude looked as if she was born n
brought up that way herself. She didn t
show no amusement ner no sarcasm in her
face. An as fcr Mr. Avery, it was nothing
short of astonishing, to see him offer his
arms to those two Guilders as they started
down the avenue."
And Susan ventured it as her present be
lief, that if Gertrude s father once caught
any of her Guilders around, he d " make
short work of the whole business. She
ought t be ashamed o herself, so she ought.
Ketch me, if I was in her shoes, a consortin
with "
" Anybody but me, Susie," put in the de
voted James; but alas, for him, the stiff,
unyielding hooked joint of his injured finger
came first in contact with the wrist of the
fair Susan as he essayed to clasp her hand,
and she evaded the grasp and flung out of
82 pras l>ou, Sir, TKHbose DauQbter?
the room with a shiver. "Keep that old
twisted base ball bat off o me ! " I "
" Oh, Susie ! " said James, dolefully, to
himself, as he slowly surrounded the offend
ing member with the folds of his handker
chief, which gave it the appearance of being
in hospital. "Oh, Susie! how kin you?"
When John Martin, on his way, intending
to drop in for the last act of the opera,
passed Gertrude s door just in time to see
Avery and the two girls come down the
steps, his lip curled a bit, and his heart per
formed that strange feat which loving hearts
have achieved in all the ages past, in spite
of reason and of natural impulses of kind
ness. It took on a distinctly hard feeling
towards Avery, and this feeling was not
unmixed with resentment. "How dare he
take girls like that to her house? I was a
fool to take her to the Spillinis, but I d
never be idiot enough to take that type of
girl to her house. Avery s political freak
has dulled his sense of propriety."
Mr. Martin wondered vaguely if he ought
not to say something to Gertrude s father,
and then he thought it might possibly be
fou, Sir, Wbose Daughter? 83
better to touch lightly upon it himself in
talking to her.
He had heard some gossip at the opera
and in the club, which indicated that society
did not approve altogether of some of the
things Gertrude had recently said and done ;
but that it smiled approvingly at what it
believed to be as good as an engagement
between the young lady and Selden Avery.
Martin ground his teeth now as he thought
of it, and glanced again at the retreating
forms of Avery and the two girls.
w It was that visit to the Spillinis, and the
revelations of life which it gave her, that
is to blame for it all," he groaned. " I was
an accursed fool an accursed fool ! "
That night Gertrude lay thinking how
charmingly Selden Avery had met the situa
tion, and how well he had helped carry it off
with Ettie and Francis. "He seemed to
look at it all just as I do," she thought. I
felt that I knew just what he was thinking,
and he certainly guessed that I wanted him
to see them home, exactly as if they had
been girls of our own set. Poor little Ettie!
I wonder what we can do with, or for, such
84 Prag Jijou, Sir, Idbosc Daugbtert
as she? She is so hopelessly happy and
ignorant." Then she fell asleep, and
dreamed of rescuing Ettie from the fangs
of a maddened dog, and Francis stood by
and looked scornfully at Gertrude s lacer
ated hands, and then pointed to her little
friend s mangled body and the smile upon
her dead lips.
" She never knew what hurt her, and she
teased the dog to begin with," she said.
T You are maimed for life, and may go mad,
just trying to help her and she never
knew and she never cared." Gertrude s
dream had strayed and wandered into vaga
ries without form or outline, and in the
morning nothing of it was left but an unrea
sonably heavy heart, and a restless desire to
do she knew not what.
lou, Sir, TKIlbose 2>augbter? 85
vn.
"When Avery took his seat in the Assem
bly he learned that Ettie Berton s father had
been true to his calling. He still might be
described as a professional starter. Any
bill which was in need of some one to either
introduce or offer a speech in its favor, found
in John Berton an ever-ready champion.
Not that he either understood or believed
in all the bills he presented or advocated.
Belief and understanding were not for sale ;
nor, indeed, were they always very much
within his own grasp. He was in the Leg
islature to promote, or start, such meas
ures as stood in need of his peculiar abilities.
This was very soon understood, and many a
bill which other men feared or hesitated to
present, found its way to him and through
him to a reading. For a while Avery
watched this process with amusement. He
wrote to Gertrude, from time to time, some
86 pra^ few, Sir, Wbose 2>augbter?
very humorous letters about it ; but finally,
one day a letter came which so bitterly de
nounced both King and Berton, that Ger
trude wondered what could have wrought
the sudden change.
" He has introduced a bill which is now
before my committee," he wrote, "that
passes all belief. It is infamous beyond
words to express, and, to my dismay, it finds
many advocates beside King and Berton.
That a conscienceless embruted inmate of
an opium dive in Mott Street might ac
knowledge to himself in the dark, and when
he was alone, that he could advocate such
a measure, seems to me possible; but
men who are in one sense reputable,
who many of them look upon them
selves as respectable ; men who are fathers
of girls and brothers of women, could even
consider such a bill, I would not have be
lieved possible, and yet, I am ashamed to
say that I learn now for the first time, that
our state is not the only one where similar
measures have not only found advocates,
but where there were enough moral lepers
with voting power to establish such legisla-
lou, Sir, Wbose Baugbter? 87
tion. It makes me heartsick and desperate.
I am ashamed of the human race. I am
doubly ashamed that it is to my sex such
infamous laws are due.
"You were right, my dear Miss Gertrude;
you were right. It is outrageous that we
allow mere conscienceless politicians to leg
islate for respectable people, and yet my
position here is neither pleasant, nor will it, I
fear, be half so profitable as you hope as
I hoped, before. I came and learned all I now
know. But, believe me, I shall vote on
every bill and make every speech, with your
face before me, and as if I were making that
particular law to apply particularly to you."
Gertrude smiled as she re-read that part
of his letter.
She wondered what awful bill Ettie s
father had presented. She had never before
thought that a legislator might strive to
enact worse laws than he already found in
the statute books. She had thought most
of the trouble was that they did not take
the time and energy to repeal old, bad laws
that had come to us from an ignorant or
brutal past.
88 pras lou, Sir, Idboee Daughter?
It struck her as a good idea, that a man
should never vote on a measure that he did
not feel he was making a rule of action to
apply to the woman for whom he cared
most; she knew now that she was that
woman for Selden Avery. He had told her
that the night he came to bring the news
that he was elected. It had been told in
a strangely simple way.
Her father and mother had laughingly
congratulated him upon his election, and
Mr. Foster had added, banteringly : " If one
may congratulate a man upon taking a
descent like that."
Gertrude had held one of her father s
hands in her own, and tried by gentle pres
sure to check him. Her father laughed,
and added : r The little woman here is try
ing to head me off. She appears to
think"
"Papa," said Gertrude, extending her
other hand to Avery, "I do think that Mr.
Avery is to be congratulated that he has
the splendid courage to try to do something
distinctly useful for other people, than sim
ply for the few of us who are outside or
lou, Sir, TMbose Daughter? 89
above most of the horrors of life. I do "
Avery suddenly lifted her hand to his
lips, and his eyes told the rest. " Mr. Fos
ter," he said, still holding the girl s hand,
and blushing painfully, "there can never
be but one horror in the world too awful for
me to face, and that would be to lose the
full respect and confidence of your daugh
ter. I know I have those now, and for the
rest " He glanced again at Gertrude.
She was pale, arid she was looking with an
appeal in her eyes to her mother.
Mrs Foster moved a step nearer, and put
her arm about the girl. " For the rest, Mr.
Avery, for the rest later on, later on," she
said, kindly. " Gertrude has traveled very
fast these past few months, but she is her
mother s girl yet." Then she smiled kindly,
and added: "Gertrude has set a terrible
standard for the man she will care for. I
tremble for him and I tremble for her."
? Tut, tut," said her father, " there are no
standards in love none whatever. Love
has its own way, and standards crumble "
"In the past, perhaps. But in the fu
ture " began his wife.
90 prag lew, Sir, TDHbose Daugbter?
"In the future," said Gertrude, as she
drew nearer to her mother, " In the future
they may not need to crumble, because,
because " Her eyes met Avery s, and
fell. She saw that his muscles were tense,
and his face was unhappy.
" Because men will be great enough and
true enough to rise to the ideals, and not
need to crumble the ideals to bring them to
their level."
Avery bent forward and grasped her hand
that was within her mother s.
"Thank you," he said, tremulously.
? Thank you, oh, darling ! and the rest can
wait," he said, to Mrs. Foster, and dropping
both hands, he left the room and the house.
Gertrude ran up-stairs and locked her
door.
Mr. Foster turned to his wife with a half
amused, half vexed face. "Well, this is a
pretty kettle of fish. What s to become of
Martin, I d like to know? "
"John Martin has never had a ghost of a
chance at any time never," said his wife,
slowly trailing her gown over the rug, and
dragging with it a small stand that had
lou, Sir, TKHbosc 2>augbtet? 91
caught its carved claw in the lace. It top
pled and fell with a crash. The beautiful
vase it had held was in fragments.
" Oh, Katharine ! " exclaimed her husband,
springing forward to disengage her lace.
"Oh, it is too bad, isn t it? "
And Katherine Foster burst into tears,
and with her arms suddenly thrown about
her husband s neck she sobbed : " Oh, yes, it
is too bad ! It is too bad ! " But it did not
seem possible to her husband that the broken
vase could have so affected her, and surely
no better match could be asked for Gertrude.
It could not be that. He was deeply per
plexed, and Katherine Foster, with a search
ing look in her face, kissed him sadly as one
might kiss the dead, and went to her
daughter s room.
She tapped lightly and then said, "It is
I, daughter."
The girl opened the door and as quickly
closed and locked it. Instantly their arms
were around each other and both were close
to tears.
"Don t try to talk, darling," whispered
Mrs. Foster, as they sat down upon the
92 pras l^ou, Sir, Wbo0e Daughter 1
couch. "Don t try to talk. I understand
better than you do yet, and oh, Gertrude,
your mother loves you ! "
:? Yes, mamma" said the girl, hoarsely.
"Dear little mamma poor little mamma,
we all love you;" and Mrs. Poster sighed.
prag 11)011, Sir, Wbose Baugbtet? 93
YIH.
The clay Gertrude received Avery s letter
about bill number 408, she asked her father
what the bill was about. He looked at her
in surprise, and then at his wife. "I don t
know anything about it, child, * he said;
"Why?"
Gertrude drew from her pocket Avery s
letter and read that part of it. Her father s
face clouded.
!? What business has he to worry you with
his dirty political work? I infer from what
he says that it is a bill that I ve only heard
mentioned once or twice. The sort of thing"
they do in secret sessions and keep from the
newspapers in the main. That is, they are
only barely named in the paper and under a
number or heading which people don t under
stand. I m disgusted with Avery per
fectly!"
Gertrude wa,s (surprised, but with
94 Pras J9ou, Sir, TUHbose H>auQbter7
ignorance and absolute sincerity of youth,
she appealed to her mother.
"Mamma, do you see any reason why,
from that letter, papa should be vexed with
Mr. Avery? It seemed to me to have just
the right tone ; but I am sorry he did not
tell me just what the bill is."
:? You let me catch him telling you, if it s
what I think it is," retorted her father, rather
hotly. "It s not fit for your ears. Good
women have no business with such know
ledge and "
Mrs. Foster held up a warning finger to
her daughter, but the girl had not been
convinced.
"Don t good men know such things,
papa? Don t such bills deal with people in
a way which will touch women, too? I
can t see why you put it that way. If a bill
is to be passed into a law, and it is of so
vile a nature as you say and as this letter
indicates, in whose interest is it to be silent
or ignorant? Do you want such a bill
passed? Would mamma or I?
Her father laughed, and rose from the
table. "It is in. the interest of nothing
l?ou, Sir, TJdbose Dauflbter? 95
good. ~No, I should say if you or your
mother, or any other respectable mother
at all, were in the Legislature, no such
bill would have a ghost of a chance ; but "
Gertrude s eyes were fixed upon her
father. They were very wide open and
perplexed.
"Then it can be only in the interest of
the vilest and lowest of the race that good
men keep silent, and prefer to have good
women ignorant and helpless in such "
she began; but her father turned at the
door and said, nervously and almost sharply,
" Gertrude, if Avery has no more sense
than to . start you thinking about such
things, I advise you to cut his acquaintance.
Such topics are not fit for women ; I am per
fectly disgusted with "
As he was passing out of the dining-
room, John Martin entered the street door
and faced him. " Hello, Martin ! Glad to
see you! The ladies are still at luncheon;
won t you come right in here and join them
in a cup of chocolate? "
He was heartily glad of the interruption,
96 pras H?ou t Sir, Wbose Daughter?
and felt that it was very timely indeed that
Mr. Martin had dropped in.
" No, I can t take off my top-coat. Get
yonrs. I want yon to join me in a spin in
the park. I ve got that new filly outside."
Mr. Foster ran up-stairs to get ready for the
drive, and the ladies insisted that a cup of
hot chocolate was the very thing to prepare
Mr. Martin for the nipping air. He was a
trifle ill at ease. He wanted to speak of
Selden Avery, and he feared if he did so
that he would say the wrong thing. He
had come to-day, partly to have a talk with
his friend Foster about certain gossip he
had heard. Fate took the reins.
In rising, Gertrude had dropped Avery s
letter. John Martin was the first to see it.
He laughingly offered it to her with the
query: "Do you sow your love letters about
that way, Miss Gertrude? "
" Gertrude s love letters take the form of
political speeches just now, and bills and
committee reports and the like," laughed
her mother. Her father was just showing
his teeth over that one, He thinks women
have no "
H?ou f Sir, Tldboee Daughter? 97
" Mr. Martin, tell me truly," broke in the
girl, " tell me truly, don t you think that we
are all equally interested in having only
good laws made? And don t you think if
a proposed measure is too bad for good
women even to be told what it is, that it is
bad enough for all good people to protest
against? "
"How are they going to protest if they
don t know what it is?" laughed Martin.
Well, Miss Gertrude, I believe that is the
first time I ever suspected you to be of
Celtic blood. But what dreadful measure
is Avery advocating now?" he smiled.
"Really, I shouldn t have believed it of
Avery! "
"What! " exclaimed Mr. Foster, entering
with his top-coat buttoned to the chin, and
his driving-hat in hand. Gertrude still held
the letter. " No, nor should I have believed
it of Avery. It was an outrageous thing
for him to do. What business has Gertrude
or Katherine with his disgusting old bills.
Just before you came in I advised Gertrude
to cut him entirely, and "
Mrs. Foster was trying to indicate to her
98 pras l^ou, Sir, IGlbose 2>augbter?
husband that he was off the track, and that
Mr. Martin did not understand him; but he
had the bit in his teeth and went on. r You
agree with me now, don t you? What do
you think of his mentioning such things to
Gertrude?" He reached over and took the
letter from his daughter s hand, and read a
part of the obnoxious paragraph.
John Martin s face was a study. He
glanced at the two ladies, and then fixed
his eyes upon Gertrude s father.
" Good Gad ! " he said, slowly and almost
below his breath. " If I were in your place
I should shoot him. The infamous " He
checked himself, and the two men withdrew.
Gertrude and her mother waved at them
from the window, and then the girl said:
" I intend to know what that bill is. What
right have men to make laws that they
themselves believe are too infamous for
good women even to know about? Don t
you believe if all laws or bills had to be
openly discussed before and with women, it
would be better, mamma? I do."
Her mother s cheek was against the cold
glass of the window. She was watching
Jt)ou, Sir, Mbose Daughter? 99
the receding forms. Presently she turned
slowly to her daughter and said, in a trem
bling tone :
"Such bills as this one," she drew a small
printed slip from her bosom and handed it
to Gertrude, " such bills as that would never
be dreamed of by men if they knew they
must pass the discussion of a pure girl or a
mother never! Their only chance is
secret session, and the fact that even men
like your like Mr. Martin and and "
she was going to say "your father," but the
girl pressed her hand and she did not.
"That even such as they for what reason
heaven only knows think they are serving
the best interests of the women they love by
a silence which fosters and breeds just such
measures as "
Gertrude was reading the queer, blind
phraseology of the bill. Katherine had
watched her daughter s face as she talked,
and now the girl s lips were moving and she
read audibly: "be, and is hereby enacted,
that henceforth the legal age in the state of
York whereat a female may give con-
100 pras H>ou, Sir, HQbosc Baugbter?
sent to the violation of her own person shall
be reduced to ten years."
Gertrude dropped the paper in her lap and
looked up like a frightened, hunted creature.
" Great God ! " she exclaimed, with an inten
sity born of a sudden revelation. "Great
God ! and they call themselves men ! And
other men keep silence furnish all the soil
and nurture for infamy like that! Those
who keep silence are as guilty as the rest!
Those who try to prevent women from know
ing oh, mamma ! " Her eyes were intense.
She sprang to her feet; "and John Martin,
who thinks he loves me is one of those men !
Knowing such a bill as that is pending, his
indignation is aroused, not at the bill, not at
the men who try to smuggle it through, not
at the awful thing it implies, but that so
strict a silence is not kept that such as we
may not know of it! He blames Selden
Avery for coming to me to us with his
splendid chivalry, and sharing with us his
horror, making us the confidants of that
inner conscience which sees, in the intended
victims of this awful bill, his little sisters and
yours and mine!" There were indignant
IfJou, Sir, THIlbose Daughter? 101
tears in her eyes. She closed them, and her
white lips were drawn tense. Presently she
asked, without opening her eyes : " Mamma,
do you suppose if you, instead of Mr. Avery,
were chairman of that committee, that such a
bill as that would ever have been presented?
Do you suppose, if any mother on earth held
the veto power, that such a bill would ever
disgrace a statute book? Are there enough
men, even of a class who generally go to
the Legislature, who, in spite of their father
hood, in spite of the fact that they have little
sisters, are such beasts as to pass a bill like
that? A ten-year-old girl! A mere baby!
And oh, mamma! it is too hideous to
believe, even of such a bill could never
pass. Never on earth ! Surely, Ettie Berton,
poor little thing, has the only father living
who is capable of that ! "
Mrs. Foster opened her lips to say that
several states already had the law, and that
one had placed the age at seven; but she
checked herself. Her daughter s excitement
was so great, she decided to wait. The
experience of the past few months had
awakened the fire in the nature of this strong
102 t>rag 10ou t Sir, "Odbcse Bausbtcr?
daughter of licrs. She had seen the cool,
steady, previously indifferent, well-poised
girl stirred to the very depths of her nature
over the awfnl conditions of poverty, igno
rance, and vice she had, for the first time,
learned to know. Gertrude had become a
regular student of some of the problems of
life, and she had carried her studies into
practical investigation. It had grown to be
no new thing for her to take Francis, or Ettie,
or both, when she went 011 these errands,
and the study of their points of view of
the effect of it all upon their ignorance-
soaked minds, had been one of the most
touching things to her. Their imaginations
were so stunted so embryonic, so unde
veloped that they saw no better way. To
them, ignorance, poverty, squalor, and vice
were a necessary part of life. Wealth, com
fort, happiness, ambition were, naturally and
rightly, perquisites, some way, some how, of
the few.
w God rules, and all is as he wishes it or it
would not be that way," sagely remarked
Francis King, one day. It had startled Ger
trude. Her philosophy, her observation, her
l?ou, Sir, Wbose Dauflbter? 103
reason, and her religion were in a state of
conflict just then. She had alway supposed
that she was an Episcopalian with all that
this implied. She was beginning to doubt
it at times.
Mrs. Foster looked at her daughter now,
as she sat there flushed and excited. She
wondered what would come of it all. She
had always studied this daughter of hers,
and tried to follow the girl s moods. Now
she thought she would cut across them.
"Gertrude, you may put that bill with your
letter. Mr. Avery mailed it to me. Of
course he meant that I should show it to you
if I thought best. I did think best, but now
but I don t want you to excite yourself
too " She broke off suddenly. Her
daughter s eyes were upon her in surprise.
Mrs. Foster laughed a little nervously, and
kissed the girl s hand as it lay in her own.
"It seems rather droll for your gay little
mother to caution you against losing control
of yourself, doesn t it?" she asked. "You
who were always all balance wheel, as your
father says. But "
" Mamma, don t you think Mr. Avery did
104
perfectly right to send me that letter and
this to you?" broke in Gertrude, as if she
had not heard the admonition of her mother,
and had followed her own thoughts from
some more distant point.
"Perfectly," said her mother. "He was
evidently deeply disturbed by the bill. He
felt that you were, and should be, his con
fidant. He simply did not dream of hiding
it from you, I believe. It was the sponta
neous act of one who so loves you that his
whole life all of that which moves him-
greatly must, as a matter of course, be open
to you. 1 thought that all out when the bill
came addressed to me. He " The girl
kissed her in silence.
;? You have such splendid self-respect,
Gertrude. Most of us most women
have none. We do not expect, do not
demand, the least respect that is real from
men. They have no respect for our opinions,
and so upon all the real and important things
of life, they hold out to us the sham of
silence as more respectful than candor.
And we most of us are weak enough to
say we like it. Most of us "
jjjou, Sir, "Odbose Daugbtert 105
Gertrude slipped down upon a cushion at
the feet of her mother, and put her young,
strong arms about the supple waist. She
had of late read from time to time so much
of the unrest and scorn back of the gay and
compliant face of her mother. "Mamma,
my real mamma," she said, softly, "I am so
sorry for papa that he should have missed so
much, so much that might have been his!
A mental comrade like you "
"Men of your father s generation did not
want mental comrades in their wives, Ger
trude. They"
"A telegram, Miss Gertrude," said James,
drawing aside the portiere.
"The bill has been rushed through.
Passed. Nineteen majority. Avery." Ger
trude read it and handed it to her mother,
and both women sat as if stunned by a blow.
106 Iprag lt)ou, Sir, Mbose augbtec?
IX.
At the close of the Legislature, John
Berton, professional starter, and his friend
and ally, the father of Francis King, had
returned to the city. Francis had grown,
so her father thought, more handsome and
less agreeable than ever. Her eyes were
more dissatisfied, and she was, if possible,
less pliant. She and Ettie Berton were
working now in a store, and Francis said
that she did not like it at all. The money
she liked. It helped her to dress more as
she wished, and then it had always cut
Francis to the quick to be compelled to ask
her father for money whenever she needed
it, even for car fare.
She had lied a good many times. Her
whole nature rebelled against lying, but
even this was easier to her than the status
of dependence and beggary, so she had lied
often about the price of shoes, or of a hat
lou, Sir, Wbose Daugbtec? 107
or dress, that there might be a trifle left
over as a margin for her use in other ways.
Her father was not unusually hard, with her
about money, only that he demanded a strict
accounting before he gave it to her.
* What in thunder do you want of
money? " he would ask, more as a matter
of habit than anything else. "How much
11 it take? Humph! "Well, I guess you ll
have to have it, but " and so the ungra
cious manner of giving angered and humili
ated her.
" Pa, give me ten cents ; I want it f er car
fare. Thanks. ~Now fork over six dollars ;
I got to get a dress after the car gets me to
the store," was Ettie Berton s method. Her
father would pretend not to have the money,
and she would laugh and proceed to rifle his
pockets. The scuffle would usually end in
the girl getting more than she asked for,
and was no unpleasant experience to her,
and it appeared to amuse her father greatly.
It was not, therefore, the same motive which
actuated the two when they decided to try
their fortunes as shop girls. The desire to
be with Francis, to be where others were,
108 prag lew, Sir, TJQbose Baugbtcr?
for the sight and touch of the pretty things,
for new faces and for mild excitement, were
moving causes with Ettie Berton. The
money she liked, too ; but if she could have
had the place without the money or the
money without the place, her choice would
have been soon made. She would stay at
the store. That she was a general favorite
was a matter of course. She would do
anything for the other girls, and the floor
walkers and clerks found her always obedi
ent and gaily willing to accept extra bur
dens or to change places. For some time
past, however, she had been on a different
floor from the one where Francis presided
over a trimming counter, and the girls saw
little of each other, except on their way to
and from the store.
At last this changed too, for Francis was
obliged to remain to see that the stock of
her department was properly put away. At
first Ettie waited for her, but later on she
had fallen into the habit of going with a
child nearer her own age, a little cash girl.
Ettie was barely fourteen, and her new
friend a year or two younger. At last
, Sir, Wbo0e DaugbterT 109
Francis King found that the motherless
child had invited her new friends home with
her, and had gone with them to their homes.
As spring came on, Ettie went one Sun
day to Coney Island, and did not tell Fran
cis until afterward. She said that she had
had a lovely time, but she appeared rather
disinclined to talk about it. At the Guild
one Wednesday evening, after the class
began again in the fall, Francis King told
Gertrude this, and asked her advice. She
said: "It s none o my business, and she
don t like me much any more, but I thought
maybe I had ought to tell you, for for
since I been in the store, I ve learnt a good
deal about about things; an Ettie she
don t seem to learn much of anything."
"Is Ettie still living at her cousin s?"
asked Gertrude.
T Yes," said Francis, scornfully, " but she
bout as well be livin by herself. Her
cousin s always just gaddin round tryin
t get married. I never did see such an
awful fool. Before Et s pa went to the
Legislature, we all did think he was goin*
t marry her, but now "
110 pras l?cw, Sir, THflboee Dauflbter?
" Legislative honors have turned his head,
have they? " smiled Gertrude, intent on her
own thoughts in another direction. She was
not, therefore, prepared for the sudden
fling of temper in the strange girl beside
her.
? Yes, it has ; n if it don t turn some other
way before long, I ll break his neck for him.
I ain t marryin a widower if I do like
Ettie."
In spite of herself, Gertrude started a
little. She looked at Francis quite steadily
for a moment, and then said: "Could you
and Ettie come to my house and spend the
day next Sunday? I m glad you told me of
Ettie s of about the change in her
manner toward you."
"Don t let on that I told you anything,"
said Francis, as they parted.
Since they had been in the store they had
not gone regularly to the weekly evening
Guild meetings, and Gertrude had seen less
of them. She was surprised, however, on
the following Sunday, to see the strange,
mysterious change in Ettie. A part of her
frank, open, childish manner was gone, and
lou, Sir, Wbose Daugbter? Ill
yet nothing more mature had taken its
place. There would be flashes of her usual
manner, but long silences, quite foreign
to the child, would follow. At the dinner
table she grew deadly ill, and had to be
taken up stairs. Gertrude tucked a soft
cover about her on the couch in her own
room, and gave her smelling salts and a trifle
of wine. The child drank the wine but
began to cry.
"Oh, don t cry, Ettie," said Gertrude,
stroking her hair gently. :? You ll be over
it in a little while. I think our dining-room
is much warmer than yours, and it was very
hot to-day. Then your trying to eat the
olives when you don t like them, might easily
make you sick. You ll be all right after a
little I m sure. Don t cry."
"That s the same kind of wine I had
that day at Coney Island," she said, and
Gertrude thought how irrelevant the remark
was, and how purely of physical origin were
the tears of such a child.
* Would you like a little more?" asked
Gertrude, smiling.
Ettie shivered, and closed her eyes.
112 prag l)ou, Sir, TJClbose 2>augbter?
I don t like it. I guess it ain t
polite to say so, but Oh, of course maybe
I d like it if I was well, but it made me sick
that time, an so I don t like it now when I
am sick." She laughed in a childish way,
and then she drew Gertrude s face down
near her own. rr Say, I ll tell you the solemn
truth. It made me tight that day. He told
me so afterwards, n I guess it did."
Here was a revelation, indeed. Gertrude
stroked the fluffy hair, gently. She was
trying to think of just the right thing to
say. It was growing dark in the room.
Ettie reached up again and drew Gertrude s
face down.
" Say," she whispered, " you won t be mad
at me for that, will you? He told me I
wasn t to blab to anybody; but it always
seems as if you wouldn t be mad at me, and"
she began to weep again.
" Don t cry," said Gertrude, again, gently.
" Of course I am not angry with you. I am
sorry it happened, but Ettie, who is kef"
Ettie sobbed on, and held her arms close
about Gertrude s neck. Again the older
girl said, with lips close to the child s ear:
H>ou, Sir, Wbose Daugbter? 113
"Don t you think it would be better to tell
me who he is? Is he so young as to not
know better than to advise you that way,
dear?"
"He s forty," sobbed Ettie, "an he s rich,
an 9 he s got a girl of his own as big as me.
I saw her one day in the store. He s the
cashier."
Gertrude shivered, and the child felt the
movement.
"Don t you ever, ever tell," she panted,
" or he ll kill me and so would pa."
"Oh, he would, would he?" exclaimed
Francis, who had stolen silently into the
room and had stood unobserved in the dark
ness. :? The cashier ! the mean devil ! I
always hated his beady eyes, and he tried
his games on me! But I ll kill him before
he shall go do you any real harm, Ettie !
I will! I will! Why didn t you tell me? I
watched for a while and then I thought I
thought he had given it up. Oh, Ettie,
Ettie ! " The tall form of the girl seemed to
rise even higher in the darkness, and one
could feel the fire of her great eyes. Her
hands were clenched and her muscles tense.
114 Pras 13ou, Sir, Idbose Daugbter?
Ettie was sobbing anew, and Gertrude, hold
ing her hand, was stroking the moist fore
head and trying to quiet her.
Oh, Fan! Oh, Fan! I didn t want you
to know," sobbed the child, with pauses be
tween her words. " He said nobody needn t
ever know if I d do just s he told me. He
said but when pa came home I was so
scared, an I m sick most all the time, an
an , oh, if I wasn t so awful afraid to die I d
wisht I was dead! "
" Dead ! " gasped Francis, grasping Ettie s
wrist and pulling her hand from her face in
a frenzy of the new light that was dawning
upon her half-dazed but intensely stimulated
mental faculties. She half pulled the smaller
girl to her feet.
"Dead! Ettie Berton, you tell me the
God s truth or I ll tear him to pieces right
in the store. You tell me the God s truth !
has he done anything awful to you?" A
young tiger could not have seemed more
savage, and Ettie clung with her other arm
to Gertrude.
" No ! ~No I "No I " she shrieked, and strug
gled to free herself from the clutch upon
iJJou, Sir, TIGlbose JDaugbter? 115
her wrist. Then with the pathetic super
stition and ignorance of hex type : w Cross
my heart ! Hope I may die ! " she added, and
as Francis relaxed her grasp upon the wrist,
Ettie fell in an unconscious little heap upon
the floor.
Francis was upon her knees beside her in
an instant, and Gertrude was about to ring
for a light and for her mother when Francis
moaned: "Oh, send for a doctor, quick.
Send for a doctor ! She was lying and she
crossed her heart. She will die ! She will
die!"
116 prag Uou, Sir, TJQbOBe 2>au0bter?
X.
But Ettie Berton did not die. Perhaps it
would have been quite as well for her if she
had died before the impotent and frantic
rage of her father had still further darkened
the pathetically appealing, love-hungry little
heart, whose every beat had been a throb
bing, eager desire to be liked, to please, to
acquiesce ; to the end that she should escape
blame, that she might sail on the smooth
and pleasant sea of general praise and
approval.
Alas, the temperament which had brought
her the dangerous stimulus of praise, for
self-effacement, had joined hands with op
portunity to wreck the child s life and no
one was more bitter in his denunciation than
her father s friend and her aforetime ad
mirer Representative King. "If she was
a daughter o mine I d kill her," he repeated
to his own household day after day. " She
ll)ou t Sfr, mbose Bauabter? 117
sh d never darken my door agin. That s
mighty certain. It made me mad the other
day to hear Berton talk about takin her
back home. The old fool! What does he
want of her? An what kind of an ex
ample s that I d like t know t set t decent
girls? I told him right then an there if he
let his soft heart do him that a way I was
done with him for good an all, n if I ketch
yon a goin np there t see her agin, you can
just stay away from here, that s all ! " This
last had been to Francis, and Francis had
shut her teeth together very hard, and the
glitter in her eyes might have indicated to a
wiser man that it was not chiefly because of
his presence there that this daughter cared
to return to her home after her clandestine
visits to Ettie Berton. A wiser man, too,
might have guessed that the prohibition
would ot prohibit, and that poor little Ettie
Berton would not be deserted by her loyal
friend because of his displeasure.
" I have told her that she may live with
us by and by," said Gertrude to Seldon
Avery one afternoon; "but that is no solu
tion of the problem. And besides, it is her
118 prag Jijou, Sir, TKHbose BaugbterT
father s duty to care for her and to do it
without hurting the child s feelings, too.
Can t you go to him and have a talk with
him? You say he seems a kindhearted,
well-meaning, easily-led man. Beside, he
has no right to blame her. He has done
more than any one else in this state to make
the path of the cashier easy and smooth. If
it were not for poor little Ettie I should be
heartily glad of it all of the lesson for
him. Can t you go to him and to that Mr.
King and make them see the infamy of their
work, and force them to undo it? Can t
you? Is there no way? "
Avery had gone. He argued in vain.
:f Why do you blame the cashier," he had said
to Berton. "He has committed no legal
offence. Our laws say he has done no
wrong. Then why blame him? Why blame
Ettie? She is a mere yielding, impulsive
child, and, surely, if he has done no wrong-
she has not. If "
" Now look a-here, Mr. Avery," said John
Berton, hotly, " I know what you re a-hittin
at an you can jest save your breath. I
didn t help pass that law t apply to my girl,
H>ou t Sir, Wbose H>auQbter? 119
11 you know it damned well. I ain t in no
mood just now t have you throw it up to
me that she was about the first one it
ketched, neather. How was I a-goin to
know that? That there bill wasn t intended
t apply t my girl, I tell you. An then she
hadn t ought to a said she went with him
willin ly, either. If she hadn t a said that
we could a peppered him, but as it is he s
all right, an "
" That is what the law contemplates, isn t
it? for other girls, of course, not for
yours," began Avery, whose natural im
pulses of kindness and generosity he was
holding back.
w JS^ow you hold on ! " exclaimed Berton,
feebly groping about for a reply. You
know I never got up that bill. You know
mighty well the man that got it up an come
there an lobbied for it, was one o your own
kind a silk stocking.
"You know I only started it n sort o fath
ered it for him. I ain t no more to blame
than the others. Go n talk t them. I ve
had my dose. Go n talk t King. He says
yet that it s a mighty good bill but I ain t
120 praE Uou, Sir, Wbose Daughter?
so damned certain as I was. It don t look
s reasonable t me s it did last session."
Avery left him, in the hope that a little
later on he would conclude that his present
attitude toward his daughter might under
go like modification, Avith advantage to all
concerned. It was early in the evening, and
Avery concluded to step into a working-
man s club on his way to his lodgings. He
had no sooner entered the door, than some
one recognized him as the candidate of a
year ago. There was an immediate demand
that he give them a speech. He had had no
thought of speaking, but the opening tempted
him, and the hand clapping was urgent.
The chairman introduced him as "the only
kid-glove member in the last Legislature
who didn t sell his soul, to monopoly, and
put a mortgage on his heavenly home at the
behest of Wall Street."
The applause which met this sally was
long sustained, and the laughter, while
hearty, was not altogether pleasant of tone.
Avery stood until there was silence. Then
he began with a quiet smile.
"Mr. Chairman and gentlemen." He
H)ou, Sir, TUHbose Daugbter? 121
paused, and looked over the room again.
"I beg your pardon. I am accustomed to
face men only. Mr. Chairman, ladies and
gentlemen." There was a ripple of laughter
over the room. "Let me say how glad I am
to make that amendment, and how glad I
shall be, for one, when I am able to make it
in the body to which I have the honor to
belong the Legislature." Some one said:
"ah, there," but he did not pause. "You
labor men have taken the right view of it in
this club. There is not a question, not one,
in all the domain of labor or legislation which
does not strike at woman s welfare as vitally
as it does at man s; not one." There was
feeble applause. "But I will go further. I
will say, there is not only not an economic
question which is not as vital to her, but it
is far more vital than it is to man. The very
fact of her present legal status rests upon
the other awful fact of her absolute financial
dependence upon men." Someone laughed,
and Avery fired up. r? This one fact has
made sex maniacs of men, and peopled this
world with criminals, lunatics, and liars!
This one fact! This one fact!"
122 IPras !>ou, Sir, THIlbose Baugbtet?
His intensity had at last forced silence,
and quieted those members who were at first
inclined to take as a gallant joke his opening
remarks. "Let me take a text, for what I
want to say to you on the economic ques
tion, from the Bible.
"Oh, give us a rest!"
"Suffer little children!"
"Remember the Sabbath day!" and like
derisive calls, mingled with a laugh and
distinct hisses. The gavel beat in vain;
Avery waited. At last there was silence,
and he said: "I was not joking. The
fact that you all know me as a free
thinker misled you; but although I did say
that I wished to take as a sort of text a
passage from the Bible, I was in earnest.
This is the text: The rich man s wealth is
his strong city; the destruction of the poor
is their poverty. Again there was a laugh,
with a different ring to it, and clapping of
hands.
" I think that I may assume," he went on,
" that no audience before which I am likely to
appear, will suspect me of accepting- the
Bible as altogether admirable. Some of the
prag lou, Sir, Wbose Daugbter? 123
prophets and holy men of old, as I read of
their doings in the scriptures, always impress
me as having been long overdue at the peni
tentiary."
There was laughter and applause at this
sally, and the intangible something which
emanates from an audience which tells a
speaker that he now has a mental grasp up
on his hearers, made itself felt. The slight
air of resentment which arose when he had
said that he should refer for his authority
to the Bible subsided, and he went on.
"But notwithstanding these facts and
opinions, one sometimes finds in the Bible
things that are true. Sometimes they are not
only true, but they are also good. Again
they are good in fact, in sentiment, and in
diction. Now when this sort of conjunction
occurs, I am strongly moved to drop for the
tune such differences as I may have with
other portions and sentiments, and give due
credit where credit is due.
Therefore, when I find in the tenth chapter
of Proverbs this : " The rich man s wealth is
his strong city; the destruction of the poor
is their poverty," I shake hands with the
124 fcrag Jj)ou, Sir, Wbose Daugbter?
author, and travel with him for this trip at
least. The prophet does not say that their
destruction is ignorance, or vice, or sin, or
any of the ordinary blossoms of poverty
which it is the fashion to refer to as its root.
He tells us the truth the destruction of
the poor is their poverty.
And who are the poor? Are they not
those who, in spite of their labor, their worth,
and their value to the state as good citizens
are still dependent upon the good- will the
charity, I had almost said of someone else
who has power over the very food they have
earned a hundred times over, and the miser
able rags they are allowed to wear instead of
the broadcloth they have earned? Are they
not those who, because of economic condi
tions, are suppliants where they should be
sovereign citizens, dependents where they
should be free and independent and self-
respecting persons?"
"Right you are!"
" Drive it home ! " came with the applause
from the audience.
"Are they not those who must obey op
pressive laws made by those who legislate
lou, Sir, Wbose Daugbtcr? 125
against the helpless and in favor of the
powerful? Are they not those whose voices
are silenced by subjection, whose wishes and
needs are trampled beneath the feet of the
controlling class?"
The applause was ready now and instant.
Avery paused. There was silence. " And
who are these?" he asked, and paused
again.
:<r ~What class of people more than any
other more than all others fits and fills
each and every one of these queries?"
K Laboring men ! " shouted several. "All
of us!"
!? ]^o," said Aveiy, " you are wrong. To
all of you to all so-called laboring men
they do apply; but more than to these, in
more insidious ways, do they apply to
laboring women. " To all women, in fact ; for
no matter how poor a man is, his wife and
daughters are poorer; no matter how much
of a dependent he is, the woman is more so,
for she is the dependent of a dependent,
the serf of a slave, the chattel of a chat
tel ! The suppliant, not only for work and
wage, but the suppliant at the hands of
126 pra l!?ou t Sir, "Odbose Daugbter?
sex power for equality with even the man
who is under the feet and the tyranny of
wealth. They share together that tyranny
and poverty, but he thrusts upon her alone
the added outrage of sex subjugation and
legal disability." He paused, and held up
his hand. Then he said, slowly, making
each word stand alone :
"And I tell you, gentlemen, with my
one term s experience in the Legislature and
what it has taught me I tell you that there
is no outrage which wealth and power can
commit upon man that it cannot and does
not commit doubly upon woman ! There is
no cruelty upon all this cruel earth half so
terrible as the tyranny of sex ! And again, I
tell you that to woman every man is a capi
talist in wealth and in power, and I reiterate :
the destruction of the poor is their pov
erty. It has been doubly woman s destruc
tion. Her absolute financial dependence
upon men has given him the power and
alas, that I should be compelled to say it !
the will, to deny her all that is best and
loftiest in life, and even to crush out of her
the love of liberty and the dignity of char-
, Sir, Wbose 2>augbter7 127
acter which cares for the better things.
Look at her education! Look at the dis
graceful ? annexes and side shifts which are
made to prevent our sisters from acquiring
even the same, or as good, an education as we
claim for ourselves. Look " He paused
and lowered his voice. " Look at the awful,
the horrible, the beastly laws we pass for
women, while we carefully keep them in a
position where they cannot legislate for them
selves. Do you know there is no law in any
state and no legislature would dare try to
pass one which would bind a ten-year-old
boy to any contract which he might have been
led, driven, or coaxed into, or have volun
tarily made, if that contract should hence
forth deprive him of all that gives to him
the comforts, joys, or decencies of life! All
men hold that such a boy is not old enough
to make such a contract. That any one
older than he, who leads him into a crime
or misdemeanor, or the transfer of property,
or his personal rights and liberty, is guilty of
legal offence. The boy is without blame,
and his contract is absolutely void illegal.
But in more than one state we hold that
128 pras IJou, Sfr, Wbose Baugbter?
a little girl of ten may make the most fatal
contract ever made by or for woman, and
that she is old enough to be held legally
responsible for her act and for her judg
ment. The one who leads her into it,
though he be forty, fifty, or sixty years old,
is guiltless before the law. I tell you,
gentlemen, there is no crime possible to hu
manity that is as black as that infamous law,
sought to be re-enacted by our own state at
this very time, and which has already passed
one house ! " He explained, as delicately as
he could, the full scope and meaning of the
bill. Surprise, consternation, swept over the
room. Men, a few of whom had heard of
the bill before, but had given it scant atten
tion, saw a horror and disgust in the eyes of
the women which aroused for the first time
in their minds, a flickering sense of the
enormity of such a measure. Ko one pres
ent was willing that any woman should be
lieve him guilty of approving such legisla
tion, and yet Avery impressed anew upon
them that the bill had passed one house
with a good majority. On his way out of
the room, a tall girl stepped to his side.
|?ou f Sir, mbose Daugbtcr? 129
For the moment he had not recognized her.
It was Francis King. She looked straight
at him.
"Did my father vote for that bill?" she
asked, without a prelude of greeting. Avery
hesitated.
" Oh, is it you, Miss King? " he asked, "I
did not see you before. Do you come
here often?"
" ~Not very," she said, still looking at him,
and with fire gathering in her eyes. " Did
my father vote for that bill?" she repeated.
"Ah I -to tell you the truth," began
Avery, but she put out her hand and caught
firm hold of his arm.
"Did my father vote for that bill?" she
insisted, and Avery said :
* Yes, I m sorry to say, he did, Miss King ;
but so many did, you know. The fact
is"
Her fingers grasped his arm like a vice,
and her lips were drawn. " Did Ettie s pa?"
she demanded.
Avery saw the drift of her thought.
" God forgive him ! yes, " he said, and his
own eyes grew troubled and sympathetic.
130 prag J^ou, Sir, Timbose Daugbter?
" God may forgive him if he s a mind to,"
exclaimed Francis, " but I don t want no
such God around me, if he does. Any God
that wants to forgive men for such work as
that ain t fit to associate with no other kind
of folks T)ut such men ; but I don t mean to
allow a good little girl like Ettie to live in
the same house with a beast if I know it.
She shan t go home again now, not if her pa
begs on his knees. He ain t fit to wipe her
shoes. ^N" my pa ! " she exclaimed, scorn
fully. "My pa talkin about Ettie being
bad, and settin bad examples for decent
girls ! Him a talkin ! Him livin in the same
house with my little sister n me ! Him ! "
The girl was wrought to a frenzy of scorn,
and contempt, and anger. They had passed
out with the rest into the street.
"Shall I walk home with you?", asked
Avery . " Are you alone ? "
Yes, I m alone," she said, with a little
dry sob. " I m alone, an I ain t goin home
any more. ~Not while he lives there. It s
no decent place for a girl living in the
house with a man like that. I ain t goin
home. I m goin to " It rushed over her
Ion, Sir, "CClbose Daughter 7 131
brain that she had no other place to go. She
held her purse in her hand; it had only two
dollars and a few cents in it. She had
bought her new dress with the rest. Her
step faltered, but her eyes were as fiery and
as hard as ever.
!? You d better go home," said Avery,
softly. "It will only be the harder for you,
if you don t. I m sorry "
She turned on him like a tigress. They
were in Union Square now. " Even you
think it is all right for good girls to be under
the control and live with men like that!
Even you think I ought to go home, an let
him boss me an make rules fer me, an me
pretend to like it an believe as he does, an
look up to him, an think his way s right
an best! Even you!"
" No, no," said Avery, softly. ? You must
be fair, Miss King. I don t think it s right;
but but I said it was best just now, for
what else can you do?" The girl was
facing him as they stood near the fountain
in the middle of the square.
" That s just what I was meaning to show
to-night when I said what I did to the club,
132
of the financial dependence of women; it
is their destruction; it destroys their self-
respect; it forces them to accept a moral
companionship which they d scorn if they
dared; it forces them to seem to condone
and uphold such things themselves; it
forces them to be the companions and subor
dinates of degraded moral natures, that hold
wives and daughters to a code which they
will not apply to themselves, and which they
seek to make void for other wives and
daughters ; it "
* You told me to go home," she said, stub
bornly. "I m not goin ! I make money
enough to live on. I always spent it on on
things to wear ; but but I can live on it, an
I m goin to. I ain t goin to live in the
house with no such a man. He ain t fit to
live with. I won t tell ma an the girls
yet; not till "
She paused, and peered toward the clock
in the face of the great stone building across
the street. " Do you think it s too late fer
me t talk a minute with Miss Gertrude? "
she asked, with her direct gaze, again.
" She d let me stay there one night, I
i)ou, Sir, IClbose DauflbterT 133
guess, n she d tell me I c d talk to her
some."
" If you won t go home," he said, slowly,
"I suppose it would be best for you to go
there, but it is rather late. Go home for
to-night, Miss Francis ! I wish you would.
Think it over to-night, please. Let me take
you home to-night. Go to Miss Gertrude
to-morrow, and talk it over." His tone had
grown gentle and more tender than he knew.
He took the hand she had placed on his arm
in his own, and tried to turn toward her
street. She held stubbornly back. "For
my sake, to please me because I think it
is best won t you go home to-night?"
She looked at him again, and a haze came
in her eyes. She did not trust herself to
speak, but she turned toward her own street,
and they walked silently down the square.
His hand still held her own as it lay on
his arm.
" Thank you," he said, and pressed her
fingers more firmly for an instant and then
released them. He had taken his glove off
in the hall and had not replaced it. When
they reached the door of her father s house,
134 Prag IJou, Sir, Wbose Baugbtcr?
she suddenly grasped his ungloved hand and
kissed it, and ran sobbing up the steps and
into the house without a word.
"Poor girl," thought Avery, "she is not
herself to-night. She has never respected
nor loved her father much, but this was a
phase of his nature she had not suspected
before. Poor child! I hope Gertrude "
and in the selfishness of the love he bore for
Gertrude, he allowed his thoughts to wander,
and it did not enter his mind to place any
thing deeper than a mere emotional signifi
cance upon the conduct of the intense, tall,
dark-eyed girl who had just left him.
He did not dream that at that moment she
lay face down on her bed sobbing as if her
heart would break, and yet, that a strange
little flutter of happiness touched her heart
as she held her gloved hand against her
flushed cheek or kissed it in the darkness.
It was the hand Avery had held so long
within his own, as it lay upon his arm. At
last the girl drew the glove off, and going
to her drawer, took out her finest hand
kerchief and lay the glove within, wrapping
it softly and carefully. She was breathing
H>ou, Sir, Idbose IDaugbter? 135
hard, and her face was set and pained.
At two o clock she had fallen asleep, and
under her tear-stained cheek there was a
glove folded in a bit of soft cambric.
Poor Francis King! The world is a sorry
place for such as you, and even those who
would be your best friends often deal the
deadliest wounds. Poor Francis King!
Has life nothing to offer you but a worn
glove and a tear-stained bit of cambric?
Is it true? Need it be true? Is there no
better way? Have we built your house
with but one door, and with no window?
Smile at the fancies of your sleep, child;
to-morrow will bring memory, reality,
and tears. You are a woman now. Yes
terday you were but an unformed, strong-
willed girl. Poor Francis King! sleep late
to-morrow, and dream happily if you can.
Poor Francis King, to-morrow is very near !
136 prag l^ou, Sir, TKflbose Daughter?
XI.
" Gertrude ! " called out her mother to the
girl, as she passed the library door. " Ger
trude! come in, your father and I wish to
talk with you."
"Committee meeting?" laughed Gertrude,
as she took a seat beside her father. It had
grown to be rather a joke in the family to
speak of Mr. Avery s calls as committee
meetings, and Mr. Foster had tried vainly to
tease his daughter about it.
"In my time," he would say, "we did not
go a courting to get advice. We went for
kisses. I never discussed any more pro
found topic with my sweetheart than love
and perhaps poetry and music. Some
times, as I sit and listen to you two, I can t
half believe that you are lovers. It s so per
fectly absurd. You talk about everything
on earth. It s a deal more like why I
should have looked upon that sort of thing
lou, Sir, "Odbose Daughter? 137
as a species of committee meeting, in my
day."
Gertrude had laughed and said something
about thinking that love ought to enter into
and run through all the interests of life, and
not be held merely as a thing apart. All
women had a life to live. All would not
have the love. So the first problem was one
of life and its work. The love was only a
phase of this. But her father had gone on
laughing at her about her queer love-making.
"Committee meeting?" asked she, again,
as she glanced at her father, smiling dryly.
Her mother answered first.
:<r Yes no partly. Your father wanted
to speak to you about he thinks you should
not be seen with, or have those girls You
tell her yourself, dear," she said, appealing
to her husband. Mr. Foster was fidgeting
about in his chair; he had not felt comfort
able before. He was less so now, for Ger
trude had turned her face full upon him, and
her hand was on his sleeve.
"Well, there s nothing to tell, Gertrude,"
he said. "I guess you can understand it
without a scene. I simply don t want to
138 iPras l>ou, Sir, lldbose 2>augbter?
see those girls that King 1 girl and her
friend about here any more. It won t do.
It simply won t do at all. You ll be talked
about. Of course, I know it is all very kind
of you, and all that, and that you don t mean
any harm ; but men always have drawn, and
they always will draw, unpleasant conclu
sions. They may sympathize with that sort
of girls, but they simply won t stand having
their own women folks associate with them.
The test of the respectability of a woman,
is whether a man of position will marry her
or not. A man s respectable if he s out of
jail. A woman if she is marriageable or
married. Now, unfortunately, that little
Berton girl is neither the one nor the other,
and its going to make talk if you are seen
with her again. She must stay away from
here, too."
There had come a most unusual tone of
protest into his voice as he went on, but he
had looked steadily at a carved paper knife,
which he held in his hand, and with which
he cut imaginary leaves upon the table.
There was a painful silence. Gertrude
thought she did not remember having ever
, Sir, Idbose 5>augbter? 139
before heard her father speak so sharply.
She glanced at her mother, but Katherine
Foster had evidently made up her mind to
leave this matter entirely in the hands of
her husband.
"Do you mean, papa, that you wish me to
tell that child, Ettie Berton, not to come
here any more, and that I must not befriend
her?" asked Gertrude, in an unsteady voice.
"Befriend her all you ve a mind to,"
responded her father, heartily. " Certainly.
Of course. But don t have her come here,
and don t you be seen with her, nor the other
one again. You can send James or Susan
better not send Susan though send
James with money or anything you want to
give her. Your mother tells me you are
paying the Berton girl s board. That s all
right if you want to, but your mother has
told me the whole outrageous story, and that
cashier ought to be shot, but "
"But instead of helping make the public
opinion which would make him less, and
Ettie more, respectable, you ask me to help
along the present infamous order of things !
Oh, papa! don t ask that of me! I have
140 pras lou, Sir, Wbose Daugbter!
never willingly done anything in my life that
I knew you disapproved. Don t ask me to
help crush that child now, for I cannot. I
cannot desert her now. Don t ask that of
me, papa. "Why do men even you good
men make it so hard, so almost impossible
for women to be kind to each other? What
has Ettie done that such as we should hold
her to account. She is a mere child. Four
teen years old in fact, but not over ten in
feeling or judgment. She has been deceived
by one who fully understood. She did not.
And yet even you ask me to hold her respon
sible ! Oh, papa, don t ! " She slipped onto
her father s knee and took his face in her
hands and kissed his forehead. She had
never in her life stood against her father or
seemed to criticise him before. It hurt her
and it vexed him. A little frown came on
his face.
" Katherine," he said, turning to his wife,
"I wish you d make Gertrude understand
this thing rationally. You always have."
Mrs. Foster glanced at her daughter and
then at her husband. She smiled.
"I always have, what dear?" she asked.
12ou t Sir, Wbose Daughter ? 141
"Understood these things as I do as
everyone does," said her husband. :? You
never took these freaks that Gertrude is
growing into, and "
The daughter winced and sat far back on
her father s knee. Her mother did not miss
the action. She smiled at the girl, but her
voice was steady, and less light than usual.
"No, I never took freaks, as you say, but
what I thought of things, or how I may or
may not have understood them, dear, no one
ever inquired, no one ever cared to know.
That I acted like other people, and acquiesced
in established opinions, went without saying.
That was expected of me. That I did.
Gertrude belongs to another generation,
dear. She cannot be so colorless as we
women of my time "
Her husband laughed.
" Colorless, is good, by Jove ! You color
less indeed ! " He looked admiringly at his
wife. " Why, Katherine, you have more col
or and more sense now than any half dozen
girls of this generation. Colorless indeed ! "
Mrs. Foster smiled. " Don t you think my
cheerful, easy reflection of your own shades
142 Pra^ H)ou, Sir, Wbose 2>augbter7
of thought or mind have always passed cur
rent as my own? Sometimes I fancy that is
true, and that it is easier and pleasanter
all around. But " she paused. "It was
not my color, my thought, my opinions, my
self. It was an echo, dear; a pleasant echo
of yourself which has so charmed you. It
was not I."
Gertrude felt uneasy, and as if she were
lifting a curtain which had been long drawn.
Her father turned his face towards her and
then toward her mother.
" In God s name what does all this mean? "
he asked. " Are you, the most level-headed
woman in the world, intending to uphold
Gertrude in this suicidal policy her
this absurd nonsense about that girl?"
Gertrude s eyes widened. She slowly
arose from his knee. The revelation as to
her father s mental outlook was, to her more
sensitive and developed nature, much what
the one had been to Francis King that night
at the club.
" Oh, papa," she said softly. " I am so
sorry for so sorry for us all. We seem
so far apart, and "
lou, Sir, TRflbose Daughter? 143
" John Martin agrees with me perfectly,"
said her father, hotly. " I talked with him
to-day. He "
Gertrude glanced at her mother, and there
was a definite curl upon her lip. " Mr. Mar
tin," she said slowly, " is not a conscience
for me. He and I are leagues apart, papa.
" More s the pity," said her father, as he
arose from his chair. He moved toward the
door.
"I ve said my say, Gertrude. It s per
fectly incomprehensible to me what you two
are aiming at. But what I know is this:
you must do my way in this particular case,
think whatever you please. You know
very well I would not ask it except for
your own good. I don t like to interfere
with your plans, but you must give that
girl up." He spoke kindly, but Gertrude
and her mother sat silent long after he had
gone. The twilight had passed into dark
ness. Presently Katherine s voice broke
the silence:
" Shall you float with the tide, daughter,
or shall you try to swim up stream? " She
144 praE H?ou, Sir, IMbose S>augbter?
was thinking of the first talk they had ever
had on these subjects, nearly two years ago
now, but the girl recognized the old ques
tion. She stood up slowly and then with
quick steps came to her mother s side.
" Don t try to swim with me, mamma. It
only makes it harder for me to see you hurt
in the struggle. Don t try to help me any
more when the eddies come. Float, mamma ;
I shall swim. I shall! I shall! And while
my head is above the waves that poor little
girl shall not sink."
She was stroking Katherine s hair, and her
mother s hand drew her own down to a soft
cheek.
"Am I right, mother?" she asked, softly.
" If you say I am right, it is enough. My
heart will ache to seem to papa to do
wrong, but I can bear it better than I could
bear my own self -contempt. Am I right,
mamma? "
Her mother drew her hand to her lips,
and then with a quick action she threw both
arms about the girl and whispered in her
ear: "I shall go back to the old way. Swim
if you can, daughter. You are right. If
145
only you are strong enough. That is the
question. If only you are strong enough.
I am not. I shall remain in the old way."
There was a steadiness and calm in her
voice which matched oddly enough with the
fire in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks.
" Little mother, little mother," murmured
Gertrude, softly, as she stroked her mother s
hand. Then she kissed her and left the
room. ? With her splendid spirit, that she
should be broken on the wheel!" the girl
said aloud to herself, when she had reached
her own room. She did not light the gas,
but sat by the window watching the passers-
by in the street.
:? Why should papa have sent me to col
lege," she was thinking, " where I matched
my brains and thoughts with men, if I was
to stifle them later on, and subordinate them
to brains I found no better than my own?
Why should my conscience be developed, if
it must not be used; if I must use as my
guide the conscience of another? Why
should I have a separate and distinct nature
in all things, if I may use only that part of
it which conforms to those who have not
146 Eras lou, Sir, TJQbose Daughter?
the same in type or kind? I will do what
seems right to myself. I shall not desert "
She laid her cheek in her hand and sighed.
A new train of thought was rising. It had
never come to her before.
" It is my father s money. lie says I may
send it, but I may not it is my father s
money. He has the right to say how it
may be used, and and " (the blood
was coming into her face) " I have nothing
but what he gives me. He wants a pleasant
home; he pays for it. Susan and James,
and the rest, he hires to conduct the labor
of the house. If they do not do it to please
him if they are not willing to they
have no right to stay, and then to complain.
For his social life at home he has mamma
and me. If he wants " She was walking
up and down the room now. " Have we a
right to dictate? We have our places in
his home. We are not paid wages like
James and Susan, but but we are given
what we have; we are dependent. He has
never refused us anything any sum we
wanted but he can. It is in his power,
and really we do not know but that he
l!?ou, Sir, Ttobose Baugbter? 147
should. Perhaps we spend too much. We
do not know. What can he afford? I do
not know. What can I afford? " She
spread her hands out before her, palms up,
in the darkness. She could see them by the
flicker of the electric light in the street.
"They are empty," she said, aloud, "and
they are untrained, and they are helpless.
They are a pauper s hands. " She smiled a
little at the conceit, and then, slowly : " It
sounds absurd, almost funny, but it is true.
A pauper in lace and gold! I am over
twenty-two. I am as much a dependent
and a pauper as if I were in a poorhouse.
Love and kindness save me! They have
not saved Ettie, nor Francis. When the
day came they were compelled to yield ut
terly, or go. They can work, and I? I
am a dependent. Have I a right to stand
against the will and pleasure of my father,
when by doing so I compel him to seem to
sustain and support that which he disap
proves? Have I a right to do that? "
She was standing close to the window
now, and she put her hot face against the
glass. T The problem is easy enough, if all
148 Eras iou, Sir, Mbose Baugbter?
think alike if one does not think at all;
but now? I cannot follow my own con
science and my father s too. We do not
think alike. Is it right that I should, to
buy his approval and smiles, violate my
own mind, and brain, and heart? But is it
right for me to violate liis sense of what is
right, while I live upon the lavish and loving
bounty which he provides?" And so, with
her developed conscience, and reason, and
individuality, Gertrude had come to face
the same problem, which, in its more brutal
form, had resulted so sorrowfully for the two
girls whom she had hoped to befriend. The
ultimate question of individual domination
of one by another, with the purse as the
final appeal and even this strong and for
tunate girl wavered. " Shall I swim, after
all? Have I the right to try?" she asked
herself.
12ou, Sir, Idbose Daughter? 149
XII.
"When Francis King told Mr. Avery that
she could and would leave her father s home
and live upon the money she earned, and
had heretofore looked upon as merely a re
source to save her pride, she did not take
into consideration certain very important
facts, not the least of which was, perhaps,
that her presence at the store was not wholly
a pleasant thing for the cashier to contem
plate under existing circumstances.
Francis King was not a diplomat. The
cashier was not a martyr. These two facts,
added to the girl s scornful eyes, rendered
the position in the trimming department
far less secure than she had grown to
believe.
So when she came to the little room which
Gertrude Foster had provided as a tem
porary home for Ettie Berton, she felt that
150 Prag 11)011, Sir, TKflbose Daughter?
she came as a help and protector antl not at
all as a possible encumbrance.
" I ve had a terrible blow-oiit with pa,"
she said, bitterly. " I can t go home any
more if I wanted to and I don t want to.
I told him what I thought of him, and of
your and of the kind of men that make
mean laws they are ashamed to have their
own folks know about and live by. He was
awful mad. He said laws was none o my
business, and he guessed men knew best
what was right an good for women."
" Of course they do," said Ettie with her
ever ready acquiescence. W I reckon you
didn t want t deny that, did you Fan? You
n your pa must a shook hands for once
anyhow," she laughed. "How d it feel?
Didn t you like agreein with him once? "
Francis looked at the child this pitiful
illustration of the theory of yielding acqui
escence; this legitimate blossom of the tree
of ignorance and soft-hearted dependence;
this poor little dwarf of individuality; this
helpless echo of masculine measures, meth
ods, and morals and wondered vaguely why
it was that the more helpless the victim,
]l)ou, Sir, Whose 2>auabter? 151
the more complete her disaster, the more
certain was she to accept, believe in, and
support the very cause and root of her un
doing.
Francis King s own mental processes were
too disjointed and ill-formulated to enable
her to express the half-formed thoughts
that came to her. Her heart ached for her
little friend to whom to-day was always
welcome, and to whom to-morrow never ap
peared a possibility other than that it would
be sunshiny, and warm, and comfortable.
Francis saw a certain to-morrow which
should come to Ettie, far more clearly than
did the child herself, and seeing, sighed.
Her impulse was to argue the case hotly
with Ettie, as she had done with her father;
but she looked at her face again, and then,
as a sort of safety-valve for her own emo
tion, succinctly said: w Ettie Berton, you
are the biggest fool I ever saw."
Ettie clapped her hands.
" Right you are, says Moses ! " she ex
claimed, laughing gleefully, "and you like
me for it. Folks with sense like fools.
Sense makes people so awful uncomfortable.
152 pras l^ou, Sir, Wbose 2>au0bter?
Say, where d you get that bird on your hat?
Out o stock? Did that old mean thing-
make you pay full price? Goodness! how
I do wish I could go back t store ! "
"Ettie, how d you like for me to come
here an live with you? Do you spose Miss
Gertrude would care?"
" Hurrah for Cleveland ! " exclaimed Ettie,
springing to her feet and throwing her arms
about Francis. " Hurrah for Grant ! Gra
cious, but I m glad! I m just so lonesome
I had to make my teeth ache for company,"
she rattled on. "Miss Gertrude 11 be glad,
too. She said she wisht I had somebody t
take care of me. But, gracious ! I don t need
that. They ain t nothing to do but just set
still n wait. It s the waitin now that makes
me so lonesome. I want t hurry 11 get
back t the store, n "
She noticed Francis s look of surprise, not
unmixed with frank scorn; but she did not
rightly interpret it.
"My place ain t gone is it, Fan?" she
asked, in real alarm. " He said he d keep it
for me."
"Ettie Berton, you are the biggest fool I
l^ou, Sir, "HClbose Daugbter? 153
ever saw," said Francis, again, this time with
a touch of hopelessness and pathos in her
voice, and at that moment there was a rap
at the door. It was one of the cash girls
from the store. She handed Francis a note,
and while Ettie and the visitor talked gaily
of the store, Francis read and covered her
pale face with her trembling hands. She
was discharged "owing to certain necessary
changes to be made in the trimming depart
ment." She went and stood by the window
with her back to the two girls. She under
stood the matter perfectly, and she did not
dare trust herself to speak. It could not be
helped, she thought, and why let Ettie know
that she had brought this disaster upon her
friend, also. Francis was trying to think.
She was raging within herself. Then it
came to her that she had boldly asserted
that she would help protect and support
Ettie. !N^ow she was penniless, helpless,
and homeless herself. There were but two
faces that stood out before her as the faces
of those to whom she could go for help and
counsel, and she was afraid to go to even
154 IPrag Jtjou, Sir, tClbose 2>augbtert
these. She was ashamed, humiliated, un
certain.
She supposed that Gertrude Foster could
help her if she would. She had that vague
miscomprehension of facts which makes the
less fortunate look upon the daughters of
wealth and luxury and love as possessed
of a magic wand which they need but stretch
forth to compass any end. She did not
dream that at that very moment Gertrude
Foster was revolving exactly the same prob
lem in her own mind, and reaching out
vainly for a solution. f What shall I do ?
what ought I to do? what can I do?"
were questions as real and immediate to
Gertrude, in the new phase of life and
thought which had come to her, as they
were to Francis in her extremity. It is true
that the greater part of the problem in
Francis s mind dealt with the physical needs
of herself and her little friend, and with her
own proud and fierce anger toward her
father and the cashier. It is also true that
these features touched Gertrude but lightly;
but the highest ideals, beliefs, aspirations,
and love of her soul were in conflict within
lL>ou, Sir, TMboae Daughter? 155
her, and the basis of the conflict was the
same with both girls. Each had, in follow
ing the best that was within herself, come
into violent contact with established preju
dice and prerogative, and each was beating
her wings, the one against the bars of
a gilded cage draped .lovingly in silken
threads, and the other was feeling her help
lessness where iron and wrath unite to hold
their prey.
The other face that arose before Francis
brought the blood back to her face. She
had not seen him since she had kissed his
hand that night, and she wondered what he
thought of her. She felt ashamed to go to
him for help. She had talked so confidently
to him that night of her own powers, and of
her determination that Ettie should not
again live under the same roof, and be sub
ject to the will of the father whom she in
sisted was a disgrace to the child.
" I reckon he could get me another place
to work in a store," she thought. "But "
She shook her head, and a fierce light came
into her eyes. She had learned enough to
know that a girl who had left home under
156 prag l^ou, Sic, IGlbose Daugbter?
the wrath of her father, would best not
appeal for a situation under the protection
and recommendation of a young gentleman
not of her own caste or condition in life.
She thought of all this and of what it im
plied, and it seemed to her that her heart
would burst with shame and rage.
Was she not a human being? Were there
not more reasons than one why another
human unit should be kind to her and help
her? If she were a boy all this shame would
be lifted from her shoulders, all these sus
picions and repression and artificial barriers
would be gone. She wondered if she could
not get a suit of men s clothes, and so solve
the whole trouble. No one would then
question her own right of individual and
independent action or thought. ^NTo one
would then think it commendable for her to
be a useless atom, subordinating her whole
individuality to one man, to whose mental
and moral tone she must bend her own,
until such time as he should turn her over
to some other human entity, whereupon she
would be required to readjust all her mental
and moral belongings to accommodate the
fou, Sir, TKHbose Daugbter? 157
new master. How comfortable it would be,
she thought, to go right on year after year,
growing into and out of herself. Expanding
her own nature, and finding the woman of
to-morrow the outcome of the girl of yester
day. She had once heard a teacher explain
about the chameleon with its capacity to
adjust itself to and take on the color of
other objects. It floated into her mind that
girls were expected to be like chameleons.
Instead of being John King s daughter,
with, of course, John King s ideas, status
and aspirations, or William Jones s wife
now metamorphosed into a tepid reflex of
William Jones himself she thought how
pleasant it would be to continue to be Fran
cis King, and not feel afraid to say so. The
idea fascinated her. Yes, she would get a
suit of men s clothes, and henceforth have
and feel the dignity of individual responsi
bility and development. She slipped out of
the room and into the street. She thought
she would order the clothes as if " for a
brother just my size." She could pay for a
cheap suit. She paused in front of a shop
window, and the sight of her own face in a
158 pra^ H?ou, Sir, Wbose Daughter 7
glass startled her. She groaned aloud. She
knew as she looked that she was too hand
some to pass for a man. It was a woman s
face. Then, too, how could she live with
and care for Ettie?
:? No, Til have to go to them for help,"
she said, desperately to herself, and turning,
faced Selden Avery coining across the
street. The color flew into her face, but
she saw at a glance that he did not think of
their last meeting or, at least, not of its
ending. "I was just wishing I could see
you and Miss Gertrude," she said, bluntly,
her courage coming back when he paused,
recognizing that she wished to speak further
with him than a mere greeting.
Were you?" he said, smiling. "Our
thoughts were half-way the same then, for I
was wishing to see her, too."
She thought how pleasant and soft his
voice was, and she tried to modify the tones
of her own.
"I was goin t ask you her what to
do about about something," she said, fal-
teringly.
" So was I," he smiled back, showing his
lou, Sir, IKHbose 2>augbter7 159
perfect teeth. "She will have to be very,
very wise to advise us both, will she not?
Shall we go to her now? And together?
Perhaps our united wisdom may solve both
your problem and mine. Three people
ought to be three times as wise as one,
oughtn t they?"
1GO Prag lou, Sir, Wbose Daughter?
XIII.
When Gertrude came forward to meet
Selden Aveiy and Francis King, she felt
the disapproving eyes of her father fixed
upon her. It was a new and a painful
sensation. It made her greeting less free
and frank than usual, and both Avery and
Francis felt without being able to analyze it.
"She don t like me to be with him,"
thought Francis, and felt humiliated and
hurt.
" Surely Gertrude cannot doubt me," was
Avery s mental comment, and a sore spot in
his heart, left by a comment made at the
club touching Gertrude s friendship for this
same tall, fiery girl at his side, made itself
felt again. John Martin exchanged glances
with Gertrude s father. Avery saw, and
seeing, resented what he believed to be its
meaning.
The three men bowed rather stiffly to each
l)ou, Sir, TIClbose Daugbter? 161
other. Francis felt that she was, somehow,
to blame. She wished that she had not come.
She longed to go, but did not know what to
say nor how to start. The situation was
awkward for all. Gertrude wished for and
yet dreaded the entrance of her mother.
Avery felt ashamed to explain, but he be
gan as if speaking to Gertrude and ended
with a look of challenge at the two men
facing him. " I chanced to meet Miss King
in the street and as both of us stood in need
of advice from you," he was trying to smile
unconcernedly, " we came up the avenue
together."
There was a distinct look of displeasure
and disapproval upon Mr. Foster s face,
while John Martin took scant pains to
conceal his disgust. He, also, had heard,
and repeated, the club gossip to Gertrude s
father.
"If good advice is what you want par
ticularly," said Mr. Foster, slowly, "I don t
know but that I might accommodate you.
I hardly think Gertrude is in a position to
to "
The bell rang sharply and in an instant
162 pras l^ou, Sir, TJdbose Daughter?
the little cash girl from the store rushed
in gasping for breath.
"Come quick! quick! Ettie is killed!
She fell down stairs and then oh, some
thing awful happened! I don t know what
it was. The doctor is there. He sent me
here, cause Ettie cried and called for yon ! "
She was looking at Gertrude, who started
toward the door.
" Go back and tell the doctor that Miss
Foster cannot come," said her father, rising.
" Certainly not, I should hope," remarked
John Martin under his breath; "the most
preposterous idea ! " Gertrude paused. She
was looking at her father with appeal in her
face. Then her eyes fell upon the tense
lips and piercing gaze of Francis King who,
half way to the street door, had turned and
was looking first from one to the other.
"Papa," said Gertrude, "don t say that.
I must go. It is right that I should, and I
must." Then with outstretched hands, "I
want to go, papa ! I need to. Don t "
* You will do nothing of the kind, Ger
trude. It is outrageous. What business
have you got with that kind of girls? I
Uou, Sir, "CClbose Bausbter? 163
asked you to stop having 1 them come here,
and I told yon to let them alone. I am per
fectly disgusted with Avery, here, for "
He had thought Francis was gone. The
drapery where she had turned to hear what
Gertrude would say hid her from him.
" With that kind of girls /" was ringing in
her ears.
" I hope when yon are married that is not
the sort of society he is going to surround
you with. It " Avery saw for the first
time what the trouble was. He stepped
quickly to Gertrude s side and slipped one
ami about her. Then he took the hand she
still held toward her father.
" My wife shall have her own choice. She
is as capable as I to choose. I shall not in
terfere. She shall not find me a master, but
a comrade. Gertrude is her own judge and
my adviser. That is all I ask, and it is all I
assume for myself as her husband when
that time comes," he added, with her hand
to his lips.
Mrs. Foster entered attired for the street.
The unhappy face of Francis King with wide
eyes staring at Gertrude met her gaze. She
164 pras H?ou, Sir, Wbosc >augbter?
had heard what went before. " Get your
hat, Gertrude," she said. I will go with
you. It might take too long to get a car
riage. Francis, come with me; Gertrude
will follow us. Come with her, my son,"
she said, to Selden Avery, and a spasm of
happiness swept over his face. She had
never called him that before. He stooped
and kissed her, and there were tears in the
young man s eyes as Mrs. Foster led Fran
cis King away.
r? I suppose it was all my fault to begin
with," said John Martin, when the door had
closed behind them. "It all started from
that visit to the Spillinis. The only way to
keep the girls of this age in " he was go
ing to say "in their place," but he changed
to " f where they belong, is not to let them
find out the facts of life. Charity and re
ligion did well enough to appease the con
sciences of women before they had colleges,
and all that. I didn t tell you so at the time,
but I always did think it was a mistake to
send Gertrude to a college where she could
measure her wits with men. She ll never
give it up. She don t know where to stop.
n
lL)ou, Sir, Idbose Daughter? 165
Mr. Foster lighted a cigar a thing he sel
dom did in the drawing-room. He handed
one to John Martin.
"I gness you re right, John," he said,
slowly. " She can t seem to see that gradu
ation day ended all that. It was Katherine s
idea, sending her there, though. I wanted
her to go to Vassar or some girl s school
like that. I don t know what to make of
Katherine lately; when I come to think of
it, I don t know what to make of her all
along. She seems to have laid this plan
from the first, college and all; but I never
saw it. Sometimes I m afraid sometimes
I almost think " He tapped his forehead
and shook his head, and John Martin nodded
contemplatively, and said: "I shouldn t
wonder if you are right, Fred. Too much
study is a dangerous thing for w r omen. The
structure of their brains won t stand it. It
is sad, very sad;" and they smoked in sym
pathetic silence, while James had hastened
below stairs to assure Susan that he thought
he d catch himself allowing his sweetheart
or wife to demean herself and disgrace him
by having anything to do with a person in
166 frras H>ou, Sir, TKlbose Daughter?
the position of Ettie Berton. And Susan
had little doubt that James was quite right,
albeit Susan felt moderately sure that in a
contest of wits after the happy day she
could be depended upon to get her own way
by hook or by crook, and Susan had no vast
fund of scruple to allay as to method or
motive. Deception was not wholly out of
Susan s line. Its necessity did not disturb
her slumbers.
lou, Sir, TKIlbose Daughter? 167
XIY.
Some one had sent for Ettie s father.
They told him that she was dying, and he
had come at once. Mr. King had gone with
him. The latter gentleman did not much
approve of his colleague s soft-heartedness
in going. * lie did not know where his own
daughter was, and he did not care. She had
faced him in her fiery way, and angered him
beyond endurance the morning after she had
learned of the awful bill which he had not
really originated, but which he had induced
Mr. Berton to present, at the earnest behest
of a social lion whose wont it was to roar
mightily in the interest of virtue, but who
was at the present moment engaged in lob
bying vigorously in the interest of vice.
When Francis entered the sick-room with
Mrs. Foster, and found the two men there,
she gave one glance at the pallid, uncon
scious figure on the bed, and then demanded,
168 Eras l^ou, Sir, tldbose Daughter 1
fiercely: T "Where is the cashier? Why
didn t you bring him and and the rest of
you who help make laws to keep him where
he is, an an to put Ettie where she is?
Why didn t y bring all of your kind that
helped along the job?"
Mrs. Foster had been bending over the
child on the bed. She turned.
" Don t, Francis," she said, trying to draw
the girl away. .She was standing before
the two men, who were near the window.
"Don t, Francis. That can do no good. They
did not intend "
" No m," began Berton, awkwardly ; " no m,
I didn t once think o my girl, n " He
glanced uneasily at his colleague and then
at the face on the bed.
" Or you would never have wanted such
a law passed, I am sure," said Katherine.
"No m, I wouldn t," he said, doggedly,
not looking at his colleague.
"Don t tell me!" exclaimed Francis.
* You don t none of you care for her. He
only cares because it is his girl an disgraces
him. What did he do? Care for her?
he drove her off. That shows who
1P>rag 12ou, Sir, TKIlbose Dauflbter? 169
he s a-carin for. He ain t sorry because
it hurts or murders her. He never tried
to make it easy for her an say he was a
lot more to blame an an a big sight
worse every way than she was. He s a-
howling now about bein sorry; but he s
only sorry for himself. He d a let her
starve an so d lie" she said, pointing to
her father. She was trembling with rage
and excitement. "I hope there is a hell!
I jest hope there is! I ll be willin to go
to it myself jest t see "
The door opened softly and Gertrude
entered, and behind her stood Selden Avery.
:? That kind of girls" floated anew into
Francis s brain, and the sting of the words
she had heard Gertrude s father utter drove
her on. "I wish to God, every man that
ever lived could be torn to pieces an an
put under Ettie s feet. They wouldn t be
fit for her to walk on none of em ! She
never did no harm on purpose ner when she
understood; an men men jest love to be
mean! "
She felt the utter inadequacy of her words,
and a great wave of feeling and a sense of
170 IPras l>ou t Sir, TlClbose Daughter 7
baffled resentment swept over her, and she
burst into tears. Gertrude tried to draw
her out of the room. At the door she
sobbed: "Even her father s jest like the
rest, only only he says it easier. He "
"Francis, Francis," said Gertrude, almost
sternly, when they were outside the sick
room. ? You must not act so. It does no
good, and and you are partly wrong, be
sides. If "
"I didn t mean him" said the girl, with
her handkerchief to her eyes. " I didn t
mean him. I know what he thinks about it.
I heard him talk one night at the club. He
talked square, an I reckon he is square.
But I wouldn t take no chances. I wouldn t
marry the Angel Gabriel an give him a
chance to lord it over me ! "
Gertrude smiled in spite of herself, and
glanced within through the open door.
There was a movement towards where the
sick girl lay. " If you go in, you must be
quiet," she said to Francis, and entered.
Ettie had been stirring uneasily. She
opened her great blue eyes, and when she
saw the faces about her, began to sob aloud.
prag l?ou, Sir, TlBlbose 2>augbter? 171
"Don t let pa scold me. I ll do his way.
I ll do anything anybody wants. I like
to. The store " She gave a great shriek
of agony. She had tried to move and fell
back in a convulsion. She was only partly
conscious of her suffering, but the sight was
terrible enough to sympathetic hearts, and
there was but one pair of dry eyes in the
room. The same beady, stern, hard glitter
held its place in the eyes of Mr. King.
"Serves her right," he was thinking.
" And a mighty good lesson. Bringin dis
grace on a good man s name ! "
The tenacity with which Mr. King ad
hered to the belief in, and solicitude for, a
good name, would have been touching had
it not been noticeable to the least observant
that his theory was, that the custody of that
desirable belonging was vested entirely in
the female members of a family. Nothing
short of the most austere morals could pre
serve the family scutcheon if he was con
templating one side. Nothing short of a
long-continued, open, varied, and obtrusive
dishonesty and profligacy of a male member
could even dull its lustre. It was a com-
172 iprap ijjou, Sir, Wbose Daughter?
fortable code for a part of its adherents.
Had his poor, colorless, inane wife ever
dared to deviate from the beaten path of
social observance, Mr. King would have
talked about and felt that " his honor " was
tarnished. Were he to follow far less
strictly the code, he would not only be sure
that his own honor was intact, but if any
one were to suggest to him the contrary, or
that he was compromising her honor, he
would have looked upon that person as
lacking in what he was pleased to call " com
mon horse-sense." He was in 110 manner a
hypocrite. His sincerity was undoubted.
He followed the beaten track. Was it not
the masculine reason and logic of the ages,
and was not that final? Was not all other
reason and logic merely a spurious emotion
alism? morbid? unwholesome? irrational?
~No one would gainsay that unless it were
a lunatic or a woman, which was much
the same thing and since the opinion of
neither of these was valuable, why discuss
or waste time with them? That was Mr.
King s point of view, and he was of the opin
ion that he had a pretty good voting majority
12ou, Sir, Wbose H>au0bter? 173
with him, and a voting majority was the
measure of value and ethics with Represen
tative King when the voting majority
was on his side.
When the last awful agony came to poor
little Ettie Berton, and she yielded up, in
pathetic terror and reluctant despair, the
life which had been moulded for her with
such a result almost as inevitable as the
death itself, a wave of tenderness and re
morse swept over her father. He buried
his face in the pillow beside the poor, pretty,
weak, white face that would win favor and
praise by its cheerful ready acquiescence no
more, and wept aloud. This impressed
Representative King as reasonable enough,
under all the circumstances, but when
Ettie s father intimated later to Francis
that he had been to blame, and that, perhaps,
after all, Ettie was only the legitimate
result of her training and the social and
legal conditions which he had helped to
make and sustain, Representative King
curled his lip scornfully and remarked that
in his opinion Tom Berton never could be
relied on to be anything but a damned fool
174 prag U>ou, Sir, Idbose Daughter 7
in the long run. He was a splendid "starter."
Always opened up well in any line; but
unless someone else held the reins after that
the devil would be to pay and no mistake.
Francis heard ; and, hearing, shut tight her
lips and with her tear-swollen eyes upon the
face of her dead friend, swore anew that to
be disgraced by the presence of a father
like that was more than she could bear.
She could work or she could die; but
there was nothing on this earth, she felt,
that would be so impossible, so disgraceful,
as for her to ever again acknowledge his
authority as her guide.
" Come home with me to-night, Francis,"
said Mrs. Foster. :? We will think of a
plan "
"I m goin to stay right here," said the
girl, with a sob and a shiver; for she had
all the horror and fear of the dead that is
common to her type and her inexperience.
"I m goin to stay right here. I can t go
home, an I m discharged at the store. Ettie
told me her rent was paid for this month.
I ll take her place here an an try to
find another place to work."
prag feu, Sir, IClbose Baugbter? 175
Mrs. Foster realized that to stay in that
room would fill the girl with terror, but she
felt, too, that she understood why Francis
would not go home with her. :? That kind of
girls " from Mr. Foster s lips had stung this
fierce, sensitive creature to the quick. A
week ago she would have been glad indeed
to accept Katherine Foster s offer. Now
she would prefer even this chamber of death,
where the odors made her ill, and the
thoughts and imaginings would insure to
her sleepless nights of unreasoning fear.
Her father did not ask her to go home.
Representative King believed in represent
ing. Was not his family a unit? And was
he not the figure which stood for it? It
had never been his custom to ask the mem
bers of his household to do things. He told
them that he wanted certain lines of action
followed. That was enough. The thought
and the will of that ideal unit, " the family,"
vested in the person of Mr. King and he
proposed to represent it in all things.
If by any perverse and unaccountable
mental process there was developed a
personality other than and different from
176 pra Jt)ou t Sir, IKHboee 2>augbter?
his own, Representative King did not pro
pose to be disturbed in his home-life as he
persisted in calling the portion of his ex
istence where he was able to hold the iron
hand of power ever upon the throat of
submission to the extent of having such
unseemly personality near him.
In her present mood he did not want
Francis at home. Representative King was
a staunch advocate of harmony and unity in
the family life. He was of opinion that
where timidity and dependence say "yes" to
all that power suggests, that there dwelt
unity and harmony. That is to say, he
held to this idea where it touched the sexes
and their relation to each other in what he
designated an. ideal domestic life. In all
other relations he held far otherwise unless
he chanced to be on the side of power
and had a fair voting majority. Represent
ative King was an enthusiastic admirer of
submission for other people. He thought
that there was nothing like self-denial to
develop the character and beauty of a nature.
It is true that his scorn was deep when he
contempleted the fact that John Berton
t?ou, Sir, Wbose Daughter? 177
"had no head of his own," but then, John
Berton was a man, and a man ought to have
some self-respect. He ought to develop his
powers and come to something definite.
A definite woman was a horror. Her attrac
tiveness depended upon her vagueness,
so Representative King thought; and if a
large voting majority was not with him in
open expression, he felt reasonably sure that
he could depend upon them in secret session,
so to speak. Representative King was not
a linguist, but he could read between the
social and legal lines very cleverly indeed,
and finer lines of thought than these were
not for Representative King.
And so he did not ask Francis to go
home. :? When she. gets ready to go my
way and says so, she can come," he thought.
" When that dress gets shabby and she s
a little hungry, she ll conclude that my way
is good enough for her." He smiled at the
vision of the future "unity and harmony"
which should thus be ushered into his home
by means of a little judiciously applied dis
cipline, and Francis took her dead friend s
178 IPrag j^ou, Sir, Wbose 2>augbter?
place as a lodger and tried to think, between
her spasms of loneliness and fears, what she
should do on the morrow.
lou, Sir, TlClbose 2>auabter? 179
XV.
" Francis told me once at the Guild that
she can make delicious bread and pastry,"
said Gertrude, as they drove home. "I
wonder if we could not start her in a little
shop of her own. She has the energy and
vim to build herself a business. I doubt if
she will every marry with her expe
rience one can hardly wonder and there is
a long life before her. Her salvation will
be work; a career, success."
"A career in a pastry shop seems droll
enough," smiled her mother, but "
"I think I might influence the club to
take a good deal of her stuff. We ve a
miserable pastry cook now," said Avery.
"That would help her to get a start, and the
start is always the hard part, I suppose, in a
thing like that."
" That would be a splendid chance. If
the members liked her things, perhaps they
180 iprag l)ou, Sir, tdbose Daugbtert
would get their wives to patronize her, too,"
said Gertrude, gaily. " I m so glad you
thought of that, but then you always think
of the right thing," she added, tenderly.
They all three laughed a little, and Avery
slipped his arm about her.
"Do I?" he asked in a voice tremulous
with happiness. "Do I, Darling? I m so glad
you said that, for I ve just been thinking
that that I don t want to go back to
Albany without you, and and the new
session begins in ten weeks. Darling, will
you go with me? May she, my mother?"
he asked, catching Mrs. Foster s hand in his
own. The two young people were facing
her. She sat alone on the back seat of the
closed carriage. The street lights were
beginning to blossom and flicker. The rays
fell upon the mother s face as they drove.
Her eyes were closed, and tears were on
her cheeks.
"Forgive me,, mother," said Avery,
tenderly. "Forgive me! You have gone
through so much to-day. I should have
waited; but but I love her so. I need
H?ou t Sir, IBlbose 2>augbter? 181
her so I need her to help me think right.
Can you understand?"
Mrs. Foster moved to one side and held
out both arms to her daughter.
"Sit by me," she said, huskily, and Ger
trude gathered her in her young, strong
arms.
"Can I understand?" half sobbed Kather-
ine from her daughter s shoulder. "Can
I understand? Oh, I do! I do! and I
am so happy for you both; but she she is
my daughter, and it is so hard to let her
go even to you! It is so hard!"
Gertrude could not speak. She tried to
look at her lover, but tears filled her eyes.
She was holding her mother s hand to her
lips.
"Dear little mamma," she whispered;
"dear little mamma, I shall never go if
it makes you unhappy never, if it breaks
my heart. But mamma, I love you more
because I love him; and "
"I know, I know," said Katherine, trying
to struggle out of her heartache which held
back and beyond itself a tender joy for
these two. "But love is so selfish. I am
H)ou, Sir, Wbose 2>au0bter?
glad. I am glad for you both but oh,
my daughter, I love you, I love you ! " she
said, and choked down a sob to smile in
the girl s eyes.
Mr. Foster was waiting for them in the
library. They were late. He had been
thinking.
"Well, I m tremendously glad you re
back," he said brightly, kissing his wife, and
then he took Gertrude in his arms. "Sweet
heart," he said, smiling down into her eyes,
"if I seemed harsh to-day, I m sorry. I
only did it because I thought it was for
your own good. You know that."
"Why, papa," she said, with her cheek
against his own; "of course I know. Of
course I understand. We all did. You
don t mind if we did not see your way?
You"
The girl is dead, dear," said Mrs. Foster,
touching her husband s arm, "and let us
not talk of that now, to to these, our
children. They want your they want to
ask they are going to be married in ten
weeks?"
" The dickens ! " exclaimed her father, and
l!)ou, Sir, Wbose DauflbterT 183
held Gertrude at arm s length. "Is that so,
Sweetheart?" There was a twinkle in his
eyes, and he lifted her chin with one finger
and then kissed her. * The dickens ! Well,
all I ve got to say is, I m sorry for old
Martin and the rest of us," and he grasped
Selden Avery s hand. "I hope you ll give
up that legislative foolishness pretty soon
and come back to town, and live with civil
ized people in a civilized way. It ll be
horribly lonely in New York without Ger
trude, but oh, well, its nature s way.
We re all a lot of robbers. I stole this little
woman away from her father, and I m
an unrepentent thief yet, am I not?" and
he kissed his wife with the air of a man
who feels that life is well worth living, no
matter what its penalties, so long as she
might be not the least of them (
JUST OUT.
A BOOK THAT IS BOUND TO CREATE A
GENUINE SENSATION.
Dr. MAX KORDAU
Writes enthusiastically of the "splendid
and noble morality " of this unique wor,
Price, post-paid, 500.
on
ub^hing (o.
For Sale by the Trade
"A THOUGHTLESS YES."
BY HELEN H. GARDENER.
SOME PRESS COnnENTS.
New York Tribune.
Marked by a quaint philosophy, shrewd, sometimes pungent reflection,
each one possesses enough purely literary merit to make its way and hold
its own. "The Lady of the Club" is indeed a terrible study of social
abuses and problems, and most of the others suggest more in the same
direction.
Pittsburg Bulletin.
All the stories are distinguished by a remarkable strength, both of thought
and language.
Boston Transcript.
Will do considerable to stir up thought, and breed a " divine discontent"
with vested wrong and intrenched injustice. The stories are written in a
bright, vivacious style.
Boston Herald.
She appreciates humor and makes others appreciate it. All of the stories,
whether humorous or pathetic, have a touch of realism, and are written
clearly and forcibly.
New York Independent.
Bright and light, gloomy and strange, cleverly imagined, fairly amusing,
tragic and interesting, by turns.
Chicago Times.
Thoughtfully conceived, and beautifully written.
San Francisco Call.
Each story is a literary gem.
Portland {Me.) Transcript.
Full of wit and epigram; very enjoyable and profitable reading. Just
long enough to induce the wish that they were a little longer an excellent
feature in a story.
Unity (Chicago).
Helen Gardener puts moral earnestness and enthusiasm for humanity into
her stories. Even her pessimism is better than the nerveless superficiality
of her rivals.
Charleston (S. (7.) News.
Illustrate the indubitable fact that the times are out of joint.
Arena.
Exceptionally excellent. Convey a moral lesson in a manner always
^Jvid, invariably forcible, sometimes startling.
N. Y. Herald.
The author is not morbid ; she is honestly thoughtful. The mystery and
consequences of heredity is the motive of some of the strongest.
Milwaukee Journal.
With a terseness and originality positively refreshing. On subjects to
suit the thoughtful, sad, or gay.
N. Y. Truth.
Have made their mark as new, original, and strong. She could not write
ungracefully if she tried, and this book is like a varied string of pearls,
opals, and diamonds.
Price, Paper, 50 Cents; Cloth, $1.00.
THE COMflONWEALTH CO.,
121 FOURTH AVE., NEW YORK.
46 Pushed by Unseen Hands."
PRESS NOTICES OF FIRST EDITION.
BY HELEN H. GARDENER.
Boston Traveller.
Must add to her already enviable reputation. These stories have the
marks of a brilliant genius; they are original in style and design, and are a
new thing in literature. Realistic in the extreme, they are at the same time
delightfully artistic.
New York Times.
The book is clever, dramatic, and in a literary sense has much merit.
Kansas City Times.
Helen Gardener is the most fearless motive fictionist of these times, and
has given time, thought and revelation to some phases of society hitherto
clothed. ... all her writings are wholesome and profitable reading. . . .
Omaha Bee.
Highly commended from a scientific point of view by recognized sci
entific authority. . . . charming method of giving to her readers pleasure
with profit.
The Baltimore American.
The terseness of expression, the delicacy of humor, and clever dramatic
ability that have characterized some of her earlier efforts, are equally strik
ing in this later work, which quickens the reader s thoughts toward a
channel of science yearly receiving more and more attention.
Boston Globe.
So realistic as to leave no doubt of their actuality. . . . The stories are told
with no apparent purpose to adorn a moral, and are the very best fiction,
yet no intelligent person can finish the book without wishing to relieve the
evils which surround high and low alike.
St. Louis Republic.
Bright, pointed, and full of interest. A book such as this. . . . is welcome.
Grand Rapids (Mich.) Eagle.
A book destined to meet a large audience, not only because of its author s
fame, but because it has merit.
Chicago Times.
Vivid and artistic. The author is a woman of remarkable gifts and of
superb courage.
New Orleans Picayune.
Fascinating to the imagination. Miss Gardener s touch is very exquisite,
and she draws her mental pictures with the hand of a master, showing in a
few rapid lines more sharp and attractive characteristics than many authors
can in labored pages.
Inter-Ocean (Chicago).
The stories are aboundingly interesting, both from the manner of telling,
and from their suggestive thoughts. The author seems always to write for
some definite purpose, and that purpose to defend the right, protect the
weak and helpless, and make the world wiser and better. Great wrongs
could scarcely be more keenly rebuked, or great truths more forcibly stated,
than by these terse stories. They are graphic in their style, elegant in their
literary construction, and convey moral lessons full of health and life.
Price, Paper, 50 Cents; Cloth, $1.00.
THE COMMONWEALTH CO.,
121 FOURTH AVE., NEW YORK.
Just out A Powerful Realistic Novel of Western
Life, by Mr. Garland.
JASON EDWARDS
An Average Man,
A Story of To-day,
HAMLIN GARLAND,
Author of "A Spoil of
Office," "Main Trav
eled Roads," &c., &c.
" I two r that the builder no longer
To me >liall be leit thin the plan,
Henceforward be guerdon and glory
And lite for the average man."
HAMLIN GARLAND.
Published by
ARENA PUBLISHING 00.,
BOSTON, MASS.
BY
University of California
SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388
Return this material to the library
from which it was borrowed.
Form L9-Sei
000 92o Ay*T
TVNews
OpenLibrary